


Dancing and Blood

by thedeadflag



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Drama & Romance, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 21:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16026815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadflag/pseuds/thedeadflag
Summary: When her best friend takes up magic...witchcraft magic, rather than card tricks and illusion...Clarke attempts to put aside her skepticism and takes a trip to a local shop to help her get some supplies. She encounters a former friend keeping shop who wants nothing to do with her, but Clarke's curious nature gets the best of her when she wanders the shop. That one visit changes everything, and leads her down a path of revelation, danger, and companionship as real magic bursts into her life, leaving her with more questions than answers, and a thorny partner in crime who seems to know more than she lets on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been MIA for a while. Work has mostly been to blame, but there's been other life stuff that's just made it hard to find time to write, or at least write well. There's a lot of stuff near completion, I've actually been writing a lot over the past year, but it's been hard to feel confident in almost any of it. That extends to this one as well, but it's been hanging around for a long time and airing things out has helped gain some clarity and motivation in the past with some other works, so I figure I'd post part of what I've got even if I'm kind of disappointed in the quality of it so far.
> 
> As listed in the tags, there's going to be blood, violence, some minor self-injury stuff with sharp objects that could be triggering. Blood magic should give a decent idea of what could be involved. There won't be a lot of this stuff, but there will be moments, and I wanted to provide sufficient warning.

Clarke Griffin was a woman of science. That just came naturally, being the daughter of a doctor and an engineer. Science was fun, and it was comfortable; there was always something more to learn, and it all helped make sense of a complex, difficult world. Questions usually had answers. Of course, some were too complex for her to understand, or were simply outside of her area of expertise, but she could be satisfied in general that if she was puzzled by something, someone somewhere had found a way to figure it out, or at least managed to connect some pieces to that particular puzzle.

There was a virtue to fostering understanding. There was value in learning from those knowledges to make the world a better, safer place. There was something incredible about helping society move forward, even if just by a tiny bit.

So colour her perplexed when her best friend, Octavia Blake, gleefully descended into the murky depths of superstition and pagan rituals. Over the course of a few months, O had gone from being your average junior in college to being neck deep in all sorts of wild trinkets, strange books, and a new wardrobe of peculiar boho-gothic clothes.

She loved her friend to death. She would go to the ends of the earth for her BFF, so she entertained Octavia’s new interest in the spiritual and supernatural. She even bought the girl a few things from O’s favourite backwoods wiccan shop for her birthday a few weeks back, even if it hurt to spend money on some of those things. The girl behind the counter, an old acquaintance from her childhood who had grown to be both starkly beautiful and more than a little intimidating, wasn’t a fan of her well-founded skepticism.

It was a bit tiring, but Octavia was worth it. Besides, outside of costing an arm and a leg, most of it all was harmless. It could have been worse; Octavia could have decided to become a card carrying, gun-toting member of the NRA. She could have gotten converted to a cult, or taken up a pro-life stance on reproductive rights. A bit of superstition, weird trinkets, and dark clothing wasn’t anything to really complain about.

Which was why when O asked to drive her to the outskirts of town, to that shop, she couldn’t will herself to say no. Not when she had a completely free evening ahead of her, and O was offering gas money on top of companionship.

As thrilled as she was that Octavia had a new boyfriend, she knew it meant they had to make the most of their time together, since O would be with Lincoln a lot that summer, and she’d be pulling lifeguard duties out at Tondc Park Beach most days. It was a job she hadn't planned on getting so invested in, but then the Finn incident happened, and it was a lot easier to distract herself with work than deal with all the heartache.

Eleven weeks later, she was supposed to be over him. Hell, maybe she was, but she wasn't quite over the companionship. Or the intimacy, in some ways; mostly the whole connection with someone who understood her on a deeper level part, but sometimes it was nice to hold someone else for an hour or three.

“So what do you think you’ll be picking up today at the shop, anyways?” She asked as she made her way westward to their destination, flipping the sun visor down to keep it from blinding her.

The hot humid evening made her poor aging Prius struggle to shelter them with cool air; she just hoped her baby would last the rest of the summer. Octavia would still have her gas guzzling ancient pick-up truck, but it wasn’t exactly a comfortable ride without A/C, and with the passenger window stuck three quarters of the way shut. 

“Well, you know much bad luck I’ve had in the past with guys. Something bad always happens when they’re over at my place, so I figure I’m going to pick up some things to help run a ritual to realign my home. You, know, like spiritually. I don’t know how I didn’t feel it before, but it’s got a really bad aura, babe.” Octavia answered, leaving her wondering exactly how many items O would have to buy so she could do that. Small tinctures and trinkets were one thing, but a full-on ritual with probably a boat load of ingredients was another. She could barely suppress her groan at how much coin O was sinking into it all. “I might pick up some other stuff, too. Parchment to write on, amethysts to help me de-stress and keep my temper in check while my brother’s around more this summer, and maybe that nice mortar and pestle set I had my eye on last time.”

Clarke cast a glance at her friend as she turned off onto county road seventeen. “What, not going to buy a fancy artifact this time around?”

She didn’t have to be looking O’s way to know her friend rolled her eyes. “Okay, my necklace boosts my focus and keeps me disease-resistant. It’s minor magic, I’m not gonna fuck with anything more serious until I know my shit. There’s some dangerous stuff in that shop, Clarke.” She couldn’t help her brief, low laugh, and earned a smack in the shoulder for it. “I’m serious. I know you don’t believe in this stuff, but that doesn’t make it any less real. Promise you won’t fuck around with anything? At least if just to keep me from being banned for life if you break something?”

It was a ridiculous hypothetical, but she nodded anyways for Octavia’s sake. The shop meant a lot to O, so she wouldn’t jeopardize it. That didn’t mean she couldn’t poke around, though. Fraudulent or not, some of the jewelry there was actually pretty nice.

“I promise, O. You don’t have anything to worry about.” She just hoped they wouldn’t be there for too tremendously long. Even her patience had limits, and with the shop crammed full of things haphazardly, it could be hard not to pick something up and theorize idly about what it was meant to accomplish. “We’re almost there, so make sure the car’s stopped before you run in, alright?”

“That was one time, and I…” Octavia’s ranting faded a bit into the background as she noticed a storm front rolling in. There hadn’t been anything in the forecast about rain, but the sky off to the south-west was looking awful dark.

She hoped O hurried so they wouldn’t get caught in a downpour, but knowing her BFF’s tendencies, she wouldn’t hold her breath. 

* * *

 

“I’m just saying, it’s a good match for both sides. It’s done.”

It wasn’t happening. Her father wasn’t trying to set her up with his best friend’s eldest daughter. It just wasn’t happening; not only because that woman was at least thirty-seven, but Lysette had only ever spoken about her as if she was someone, and something, that she wasn’t.

Her father also hadn’t laid out a particular bracelet that matched her own in a certain special way. He certainly hadn’t just spent an hour in the back room weaving a binding spell into it to ensure a specific asshole would be able to see and wear the normally invisible enchanted material. That would be ridiculous, and dangerous, and more than a little presumptuous of him.

So this just wasn’t happening.

“No.”

“Anya…”

Anya spun around, hoping her glare was sharp as a blade as she leveled him with it. Maybe then, he’d understand how ridiculous and insulting his assertion was. “‘No’ is a complete sentence, father.”

Her father placed the bracelet on the counter once more. “I’ll give you until tomorrow to come to terms, but this is happening, Anya. Do not disappoint me.”

Impulsive it might have been, but Anya couldn’t help but grab the thing and toss it across the room. “Get that away from me!” She seethed, heart racing in fury that there was little else she could do. He was far more powerful and well versed in the arts than she was. She could resist, but it was a matter of time before he’d bind her to this woman and collect the dowry his affluent friend offered. Just the knowing look on his face exhausted her, dropping her words to a whisper as she spoke. “I will not forgive you for this. Do not do this.”

“It’s done.” He stated casually, giving her one last look-over, as if she was cattle and not his daughter. As if she wasn’t the child he’d adored when she was younger, when their family was still together and happy, when her mother was still around. Hell, the eagerness in his eyes was clear enough to signal just how ready he was to be rid of her, leaving her with a searing ache in her gut. “Tend to the shop this evening, but don’t over-exert yourself. You need to be prepared for the ceremony tomorrow night.”

With that, her father turned and made his way out of the shop, holding the door for two patrons before vanishing from sight. 

The one thing she loved about working at the shop was that her customers were almost always fantastic, kind, and gave her space when she needed it. However, as she idly looked over the customers, she tensed up, anger and anticipation burning in her gut at the sight of the rude blonde from a few weeks ago. She rarely ever forgot a face.

Not of someone who mocked her and her craft, and certainly not someone who she had a bit of a painful history with, either.

The other one, Octavia, was Clarke's best friend, but seemingly much more in line with her usual customer base as of late, so with as much effort as she could muster, she focused on the familiar raven-haired girl. “Welcome to the Moonlight Market. Octavia, was it? What can I help you with?” The raven-haired girl nodded, grinning as she splayed out a list of ingredients. It took a brief second to discern the desired outcome. “Cleansing a home is no simple task, but you have most of what’s necessary here. I’d be happy to suggest a few modifications and additions, if you’d like?”

“It’s already a pretty extensive list, and O knows her research. You don’t need to upsell her when she’s already going to spend a fortune here.” Clarke chimed in, stepping up to Octavia’s side. She leveled the blonde with a swift glare and prepared some thorny words to hopefully embarrass the thick-skulled skeptic.

Octavia, to her credit, had some backbone. “I can handle myself, Clarke.” The girl was firm, enough for the blonde to hold up her hands and take a step back. “And yeah, I did my research. This worked for someone I know. Why would I need to change her list?”

It was a fair question, one she’d asked back when she was young and green as well. The girl seemed a bit defensive and fiery, but she could see that Octavia respected her. That earned an honest answer.

“Your friend probably lives in the pacific northwest. Probably the interior of Oregon from the amount of Oemleria cerasiformis stems you have listed here. Spells like this use the earth to cleanse the home, drawing the negative energy into the air outside and channeling it into the ground where it can be brought to balance. You should have ingredients that match the land, and some of these aren’t a great fit.” Anya explained, thankful both of them were caring to pay attention, even if the blonde was visibly trying not to roll her eyes. It was nice to have a distraction for the moment. “That plant, for instance, is rare in this region, harder to get our hands on. You can save yourself about fifteen dollars replacing it with a hundred and eighty grams of Carya ovata bark, which will serve you much better in this region. It’ll give you a faster, less volatile ritual in comparison.”

The raven-haired girl exhaled heavily. “Shit. I should have known that.”

“It’s a common error. Here…” She took the list and swiftly wrote in substitutions and their quantities. “This will be more attuned to the land here. And if this is your first, I’d suggest perusing the fetishes we have…”

“Fetish?!” Clarke let out, thankfully earning a quick smack from her friend for her predictable ignorance, not that Anya hadn’t also shot her yet another glare for her unneeded commentary.

“Mind out of the gutter, Clarke! It’s, like…a _thing_. A carving.” Octavia was correct enough, though the blonde seemed predictably unconvinced.

Anya reached down and pulled her own fetish from its usual spot, generally keeping it near the counter in case there were any magical mishaps she needed to tamp down on. Her fox made it easier to focus and control energies and spirits, after all, even if the range was limited.

“This. To simplify it almost nearly beyond usefulness, it helps better channel the spell and the energy Octavia will be wielding. However, she needs to find one that she connects with, otherwise it would just be a carving.” She added, not appreciating the exaggerated disbelief dancing across the blonde’s features. If she wasn’t so gorgeous, she might have been able to keep her gaze away. Clarke had always been dangerous like that. “It’s not entirely necessary, but it would help with the learning curve. They come in handy, even for someone as experienced as I am.”

“Yeah, so I’m going to browse around a bit, O. If you need me, I’ll be over by the jewelry.” Clarke let out before wandering off, thankfully leaving her with the inexperienced young witch. Just having the blonde in her presence was starting to get on her nerves. There was no reason for someone like Clarke to step foot in her store, not after everything way back when.

Octavia stared hard at the amended list, letting out a low hum. “Do I need it? Like, can I do it without it?”

“I have a feeling you’d eventually manage without, but…you could get hurt. It can be a bit…physical…when channeling the energy out of the home. If the home is filled with negative energy, it can be violent and draining. There’d be no shame in seeking the aid of a fetish.” Her words drew a nod from the girl just as she heard some noise from the corner of the store that the blonde disappeared off to. Probably getting up to no good. “Why don’t you acquaint yourself with the store layout while you gather ingredients? Give the decision some thought. Your call.”

Her customer stared hard at the list for a few moments before nodding. “Yeah. Thanks for the help, and all.”

“You’re very welcome.” She waited until Octavia finished up with liquids and disappeared into the herbal section before stepping out, skin itching with every jangling noise coming from the other side of the shop.

With her usual patrons, folks wandering around the shop was a non-issue, but people with less respect for her practices tended to behave like bulls in a china shop. She, of course, wanted to limit damage to the merchandise, but there was also the risk of a magical outburst from damage that she wouldn’t necessarily be able to contain, depending.

Anya? Well, she didn’t take risks. Not ones that weren’t completely calculated.

She just hoped the damage was minimal, her father was already on her ass enough as it was.

* * *

 

Say what you will about the weird shop, it had a nice selection of jewelry. She wasn’t usually big on it, but it was nice to have a few pieces at the ready in case an occasion warranted it. With nothing sporting a price tag, Clarke wasn’t sure whether any of it was affordable, but that didn’t stop her from testing some of them out. Mostly the bracelets, bangles, and rings.

Aside from the weird amount of static electricity some of them carried, or that one was weirdly cool, it was a pretty standard DIY jewelry section. Well, slightly better craftsmanship on most of the items, and many seemed more than a few decades old, but it at least gave her an idea of what they’d sell for with all things considered.

Clarke tossed a sixth bracelet onto her wrist, taking a moment to admire the lapis lazuli against her skin before moving on down the aisle to continue taste testing. She could see herself wearing that one somewhat regularly, at least, blue always having been her colour.

She was just approaching a shelf of necklaces when she caught sight of something on the floor, just managing to step to the side in time to avoid crushing it. Or, well, it looked relatively sturdy, but the gasp behind her told her that maybe looks could be deceiving.

“Geez, you should be more careful with how you stock this stuff.” Clarke let out as she knelt and picked up the bracelet, wondering what it was doing a few feet away from its marked section. She glanced behind her and spotted Anya, those intense amber eyes shifting between the bracelet in her hand and her wrist. “I’m not going to steal them, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just keeping them around until I make a decision on what ones I might buy.”

The shopkeep’s brow knit, those intriguing amber eyes swirling with increasing bewilderment. Anya's hand started to reach out before immediately clawing itself back, catching herself. “I don't understand...what are you?”

Clarke squared up at her and opened the clasp of the bracelet, drawing a hard swallow from the girl down the aisle. “I'm still just me. But don’t worry…I won’t be a regular here, I won't be 'tainting' your shack with my negativity much longer.”

“How did you…? No, no, it doesn’t matter. You need to give me that. Hand me the bracelet.” Clarke narrowed her eyes at the weirdly desperate request. If it wasn’t the most interesting one she’d come across at the store, she would have, but she felt compelled to slip it on and see how it fit. Maybe annoying her former childhood friend a bit was a nice bonus, too.

Clarke fit her hand through the opening and secured the clasp, grinning at the thought of being lectured on mismatching chakras or energies or whatever. The moment it was secure, an electric spark rippled through her and burst into her chest, forcing a cry out her throat as she fell breathlessly to her knees in shock.

It was beyond embarrassing to succumb to some damn static electricity, but when she glanced up at Anya, she didn’t get the rolling eyes or stern stare she’d expected. No, the girl was doubled over on the ground as well.

“Oh my goddess…” Anya let out, voice straining and trembling. “How did…how did you see that bracelet? How did you know to add that amplifier and all the right buffers in the proper order? How…”

The girl was speaking gibberish as far as she could understand, but she was too busy removing the bracelets from her wrist. One by one, they came off, but that final one’s clasp just wouldn’t open. No matter how she pulled and twisted and spun it around, there was no getting rid of it. “Damn it, can you help get this off me?” She gave it another tug and let out a huff. “Why isn’t it coming free?”

“It won’t come off. Even if you dislocated your thumb and tried to pull it off that way, it’d stay.” Clarke rolled her eyes at the hazily spoken assertion and how ridiculous of hyperbole it was. Anya didn’t react to the gesture, but clearly noticed it somehow, words dripping out saturated in numb defeat. “You may not believe, but you will. I’m sorry this is how you’ll come around, but it’s done now. There’s no reversing it.”

“Look, I don’t care what gobbledygook you believe in, I never really have, I just want to get this off!” She whispered as loudly as she could. She didn’t want to upset O, but damn it, she was starting to get a little spooked. Except, there was a strange sense of relief mixed in with that fear, which made no sense. “Damn it, help!”

Anya got to her feet. “Consider it bought and paid for. This…shouldn’t have happened, I apologize. Tell your friend her order is on the house.” She expected some snark, or glare, but the hazy-headed woman just wandered off further into the store and disappeared into the back room.

“What was that all about? Were you two arguing?” Octavia called out from the end of the aisle, making her way over with a basket full of ingredients. “Don’t tell me you pissed her off.”

Clarke let out a heavy sigh and gave another futile tug at the bracelet. It didn’t budge, not even a millimeter, but at least she could kick that particular can down the road if it was free of charge. “I’m not sure what happened. She said your order’s free, though.”

“The fuck? That’s…there’s no way, there’s like eighty bucks of stuff here.” Octavia shook her head and marched off to the back of the store, thankfully giving her time to catch her bearings.

Wholly freaked out? Check. Weird bracelet won’t come off? Check. Strange relief pooling in her chest? Check, and only growing by the second for reasons she couldn’t fathom. It felt different, detached, but she still felt it, so what the hell did that say about her? Clarke wasn’t sure, but getting out of dodge seemed to be a good option.

Octavia returned shortly after, puzzled and excited, so Clarke turned and wordlessly made her way out to the parking lot, the clouds just beginning to spit.

She was just getting home after dropping O off when that relief faded to nothing, giving her a bit of reprieve from the confusion. For a few moments her emotions felt at home, rooted in herself.

Then the fear kicked in hard, blooming out with every beat of her heart. Growing, growing, stealing more and more breath. She barely made it to her bed, collapsing against the side of it. A hand was wrapped around her heart, crushing it. She fought to cry out, but her parents weren’t home, her phone in the bag she dropped by the doorway.

And then as quickly as it arrived, the fear was gone, leaving her reeling from the sudden shift as her heart-rate drew back to a regular rhythm. This wasn’t a panic attack; it hadn’t felt like a panic attack, at least. “What the hell is going on?”

Clarke gave another feeble tug at the bracelet before crawling onto the bed, exhaustion propelling her into slumber, the torrents of rain outside going unheard.

* * *

 

She was free.

A terrible price was paid, one she still couldn’t wrap her head around, but it had been paid. She was free. Free from a future of being sold off to a family that only wanted her blood, a powerful spouse-to-be that treated her terribly, a life that held nothing but pain for her.

As swift as her father’s decision had been, as much as it had surprised her, it shouldn’t have. In retrospect, he had been leading up to it for some time now, and being free from at least one particular machination of his had been one of the greater reliefs of her lifetime, sad as that might be.

Powerful as he was, he could not unbind two spirits once bound. No one could. He could no longer hold his power over her as a way to coerce her into that arranged marriage.

Of course, it didn’t take long to realize that she held no value now. She was bound, and her father could no longer collect payment. For all intents and purposes, she was a burden on him that he couldn’t find relief from.

Anya remembered the eagerness in his eyes at being free of her. She knew that if he was willing to sell her off like cattle, he could take more extreme measures against her as retribution. He was a prideful man, after all. It wasn’t as if he hadn't been crossed the line before. It wasn't as if he hadn't been cruel to her for lesser offenses.

That fear had come on strong, forcing Anya to pack up whatever she could manage, lock up the shop, and rush to the only sanctuary she knew.

So there she sat, resting against the wall of Lexa’s old cave, drinking down the last traces of her numbing tincture. The last thing she needed was her bondmate to be burdened with her bullshit.

That was irresponsible. It couldn’t happen.

Even if she wasn’t certain how Clarke had managed to cobble together the exact bracelets and their exact sequence to pull off a watered down, makeshift replication of the ritual her father had planned for her and Lysette.  Even if Clarke had chosen the one and only focus ring on the precise finger necessary to properly amplify the elements to get a proper alignment.

Hell, she couldn’t fathom how Clarke had actually seen the core bracelet in the first place. They’d been forged together, created with her in mind, invisible to all but her, her direct relatives, and those whose spirits aligned with her own. The notion of soulmates, as it was, derived from the age-old ritual; however there wasn’t just one perfect match for a person, there ended up being a handful of potential matches over a person's life span.

Virtually impossible to encounter one in the real, she only knew of one such case in her lifetime, so Anya brushed off that possibility. It had to be a coincidence, and she was fairly certain a soulmate wouldn't have shunned her as a child, as well. “Father must have made an error in casting the spell. That must be why she could see it…maybe anyone could have seen it.”

Her father had, of course, also adjusted the bracelet to allow an exception, using his friend’s daughter’s blood in a re-forging of the bracelet, using his abilities to channel that to Anya’s own to recalibrate it. It had taken a lot out of him, and while she never knew her father to do anything less than perfectly, no one could be flawless forever. Everyone made mistakes.

She certainly had in tossing the bracelet across the store, only for a stranger to find and activate it, changing their lives forever. For all the relief it might have offered her from a horrible fate, it had ensnared an unsuspecting, innocent woman into her mess, and that was unforgivable.

Forever was a long time, after all. Clarke might be an aggravatingly abrasive skeptic with no respect for her craft, but that didn’t mean she deserved being bound for life. “Maybe I can just…keep it up indefinitely…” She mused, staring at her backpack. The tincture was mostly water, with a few herbs and a little magic to get things fused and functional. A little went a long way, and she had a good three weeks’ worth of ingredients.  

Maybe she could pull it off if she was careful.

Hell, she already took them some days of the month. Being numb was never a lot of fun, and she missed the highs of happiness in the rare moments it’d come into her life, but maybe it was worth it. Maybe distance would help, as well. She'd spent years without Clarke in her life; surely it wouldn't be difficult to keep it up.

Anya brushed herself off as she got to her feet, making her way over to the boulder blocking the exit. She dragged her dagger along the outside of her thigh for an inch or two and ran her hand over the minor wound, coating it in her blood. She look in a slow, steady breath and put her full focus on the boulder as she exhaled, palm burning as the rock shifted a few feet to the side and fell back to rest behind the waterfall.

She stepped out and pulled out her phone, taking a moment to rinse off her hand before tapping out a message to Emori.

 **Anya**  
_That job offer still available?_

It only took a few moments to get a response, giving Anya a bit of hope that maybe this all would work out, at least in the short term until she figured out something better. Her father had never extensively studied tracking magic, so as long as she was careful she’d probably be fine.

She just had to get through the summer.

* * *

 

With the sun’s rays scorching the air, her skin stinging from exposure regardless of how powerful the SPF had been on her lotion, Clarke was ready to call it a day.

Unfortunately, she had three hours left on her shift, relegating her to the lifeguard post for what was sure to feel like an eternity. The only silver lining was that the beach wasn’t the most popular one in the region, and school wasn’t out for another week and a half, leaving her with maybe a hundred people to watch over.

Or, maybe that wasn’t so fantastic after nearly five hours perched atop her station. Some water would be fantastic right about now.

Clarke reached for her bottle and gave it a cursory shake, finding it about a quarter full. Because of course it was practically empty, and certainly empty after she took a last swig from it. She glanced off to the south and spotted Bellamy right where he’d been for the past hour, leaning up on the ATV.

She picked up her radio, knowing that even if she didn’t want to talk to him, she needed for him to watch her post while she went for a refill. “Bell, I’m grabbing more to drink, keep your eyes on the water for me?”

“No promises, princess.” Clarke rolled her eyes at his response, knowing there was a better than fifty percent chance that he’d ogle her as she made her way off to the beach’s food shack for a free refill.

The older guy was a definite creep, but he was Octavia’s brother, so there wasn’t much she could do but wait for her turn to burn him back for his antics.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a long jog to the shack, Wells and Emori manning the counter and kitchen respectively. “Wells, can you get me a refill?” She asked as she tossed the bottle, her friend barely saving himself from a sore nose. She’d remember his reflexes weren’t always the best one day, today just wasn’t it.

Her friend shoved the bottle under the tap and started filling it. “You know, you could always just keep a cooler up there at your station. No one would care.”

“My boss would care, if the stories are true.” She’d heard too many tales of other lifeguards being accused of working under the influence just for having a cooler. Which was a bit of an overreaction, but she could at least respect the intent. No one should be drinking alcohol while performing their duties. “Slow day?”

Wells screwed the top back on and handed the full bottle back. “Yeah. Emori’s training the new girl today in a half hour, which will probably be a disaster.”

“I heard that!”

Wells rolled his eyes at the distant outburst, but it was an exciting development. They were always so poorly staffed, it was good that there’d be a third person around to make sure that duo didn’t practically live in the shack like they had last summer.

She missed Wells.

“Let me know how it goes. Or, well, maybe I’ll see how it goes, since I’m sure I’ll guzzle this back within the hour. God, it’s hot out.” Wells grinned at her complaint, gesturing to the shade and water his work provided him. “Hey, don’t even start! I would have taken the job if it didn’t pay so much better for me to keep lifeguarding in the summer. Shade’s nice, but it doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I’m just saying, while you’re out there dealing with the heat and thirst, I can kick back and get free snow cones.” He laughed and peeked out of the hut. “How’s it been with Blake back? He still an asshole?”

Clarke nodded furiously. “Pretty sure he stared at my butt all the way over here, he’s such a perv. If O didn’t love him so damn much, I might get some payback…slash his tires or something, maybe.”

“Whoa, that escalated fast. But…yeah, yeah, maybe I should file an anonymous complaint. He deserves it.” Wells offered, and it was sweet, but ultimately not the best idea.

“Except…everyone outside of us loves Bellamy, so he’d know it was one of us. And he knows I’d rather slash his tires than file a complaint, so he’d know it was you right away. Don’t bother.” Clarke knew that as soon as he full-fledged crossed into sexual harassment territory, she’d take action, but for now, she’d bide her time. His smaller offenses were bad, sure, but she had a community to win over unless she wanted to alienate herself.

She had to be tactical.

“Well then, if I can’t officially complain, I’ll have the new girl bring you over some fresh water when she gets here and keep you filled up at least while she’s being trained. That way you can rotate two bottles and keep Blake from perving on you as often.” Leave it to Wells to make the smart play and make sure she was taken care of. He was always sweet like that.

Clarke lifted her bottle. “I really appreciate that. Maybe it’ll keep Bell focused on his ATV...we can only hope. Or he’ll just ogle the new girl.”

Wells rolled his eyes. “Yeah, maybe I’m trading one for another. Gotta give it a shot, I guess. All I know is he hasn’t given Emori any eyes, which I’m eternally thankful for, because she’d gut him. I love her, but I’m not sure I could handle twenty five years of prison visits.”

“Yeah, he gives her a wide berth for good reason, she means business. She’s still a sweetheart, but a sweetheart that’ll stab you in the chest if you mess with her.” Clarke agreed, stepping away from the counter. “Anyway, I need to get back, but thanks again. I appreciate the help.”

Clarke jogged back to her post, thankful Bellamy was too busy re-filling a deeply dug hole in the beach to notice her return. Taking a swig of her water, Clarke scanned the waters, needing to be sure Bell didn’t miss anything while she was gone.  

It didn’t take long to spot it.

One of the men who’d been lounging in a nearby pond in his raft had apparently made the executive decision to try it out in the ocean. Clarke grabbed her can and approached the water, giving her whistle a blow to try and grab the man’s attention.

She saw him look her way and hesitantly wave his arms. Idiot.

Thankfully, he wasn’t too far out, but people really should know better. “Damn inflatables…” She muttered as she jogged into the water and swam past the waves into the deeper waters a few dozen meters from shore.

It was a sluggish trek back in; the swimming-impaired man refused to leave his raft so she’d more or less towed him back in, keeping a close eye and firm hand to keep him from tipping over in the waves. Maybe not protocol, but she just cared about getting him back into shallow waters as quickly as she could so she could get back to watching the water for any other issues.

“Next time, stick to the pond. It’s too shallow to get into much of any trouble, and you can float around to your heart’s content.” She said once they were back onto the shore, combing the wet hair out of her face. “If you can’t swim, don’t stray from the shore, okay?”

“Sorry…” The man mumbled as he departed, Clarke waiting long enough to see him head back towards the kiddy pond before casting her gaze back across the water.

Thankfully, everyone was behaving, at least for now. Chances were, the guy would make the same mistake in the future, or someone else would, but she’d enjoy the relative quiet while it lasted.

Clarke made her way back to her tower, the hot sun making each step sting enroute back to the miniscule shade that her worn down, decrepit shelter provided. Or, would have provided, if her backup hadn’t scaled the rickety ladder and planted himself in the seat. The deal was that he got the ATV and she got the tower, at least on the shifts they shared.

It didn’t take a genius to understand at least one of the reasons he was being an obnoxious asshole. “Get down from there, perv.”

“Hey, I’m just enjoying the view from up here. Ocean looks real nice.”

“Uh huh…” She shoved him enough to get him stumbling off the chair, given his eyes didn’t even scan the water. He could be such an asshole! “Go back to work, Bell.”

“You’re so pushy, literally.” He laughed, even if she wasn’t really joking.

She peered north and pointed down the beach. “If you’re so desperate to fill some holes, there are some up the beach over there eager and willing. Now get out of here.”

She didn’t watch him climb down, not wanting to test her own patience, just trying to get her heart-rate and anger settled down.

“Careful with that one, she’s been a little…” Clarke heard him say to someone, silence filling the gap of him most likely making some kind of obscene or offensive gesture. “…wow, _okay_ , maybe tone down the fury, it was a joke.”

Smirking at Bellamy actually getting on someone else’s bad side for once, Clarke turned her attention toward the ladder to offer a friendly greeting to whoever had Bell marching off in a sulk. Except as she leaned over the railing down at Anya, the words died in her throat. Anya was still glaring off at Bellamy, the breeze whipping around her shining waves of dirty blonde hair, a boxy turquoise crop top and the tiniest denim cut-off shorts known to man exposing a wealth of glistening sun-kissed skin.

Anya looked like a scorned sun goddess, and maybe she leaned a little harder against the railing for support as her brain caught up to her body.

“What are you doing here?” So many questions stormed around in her head, a week’s worth of them buzzing with the intensity of a cyclone. Did she have a way to remove it? Could Anya remove her own bracelet freely? Did she have answers for what happened? Why did she feel so damn scared later that day? Why…

“Here.” The girl held up a large steel thermos. It took her a few moments to connect the dots in her head, and even then, she lacked answers. Still, she wouldn’t refuse water. “Emori told me to give it to you.”

“Are you stalking me?” The words slipped out before she could censor the thought, but Anya didn’t seem fazed at all by it, just rolling her eyes as she set the water bottle on the platform ledge. “Sorry, it’s just…why are you here, don’t you work at that Moonlight Market place? Can you get this bracelet the hell off me?”

“I don’t work there anymore, I needed a job. It’s nothing to do with you.” The girl spun on her heel and started back towards the storefront.

Clarke chased her, rushing to the far railing. “Hey! You forgot to take my old bottle!”

“You won’t need it!”

None of those four words made any sense, she still had four hours left in her shift. She’d need a replacement. “How do I take this off?!” She called out at the retreating figure.

She heard the crash of waves, the laughter of families, the cries of seagulls, the faint roar of boats off the coast, but the silence from Anya was deafening in the wake of the dull, detached fear that bloomed in her chest. Her childhood friend knew something, of that she was sure, but Anya was unpredictable.  She'd have to corner her and hope that would be enough to get the truth without too much tooth-pulling.

Whatever was going on, Clarke was going to figure this out, whether either of them liked it or not.

* * *

 

“…and, I mean, we’re supposed to call it poutine, but it’s essentially disco fries.” Emori’s words were going over her head, unsure what the hell disco fries were if there were seven variations of it that the shop offered, with completely different toppings on the fries.

Ultimately, it wasn’t her job to understand the finer nuances of culinary definitions, though, so she just nodded along as Emori guided her over to the grills, displaying the basics of flipping burgers and the necessity of keeping the beef, chicken, and fish all separate.

It was all easy enough, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done her fair share of cooking. It was one of the many reasons she took Emori up on the offer to fill the vacancy. Besides, she desperately needed a job, and being near the ocean helped minimize the odds of being tracked with much of any accuracy. Living in a cave may not be expensive, but eluding her father was a bit of a resource-intensive process.

Besides, if she wanted to escape the region and start over fresh, she needed money.

Money and distance. While the sensations she was experiencing on the daily wouldn’t be muted any more than they already were, she would at the very least be able to resign herself to their existence rather than acting on the urge to do something if she was within a stone's throw.

What exactly she’d do, Anya still wasn’t sure, but when a seething anger snaked around her heart earlier that day, she’d found herself in front of the lifeguard tower before she really needed to be. It was all she could do to enchant the thermos and hand it off, preventing any future visits of the nature, not that it’d likely cut down on any of the interrogations. Not with the brief burst of fear and confusion she’d felt a half hour after departing the tower.

No, Clarke seemed adamant about wringing as much information out of her as possible, which complicated things, since Clarke worked a few hundred feet away. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to last the whole summer without spilling something, but the last thing she needed was for two people to be at risk rather than just herself.

“…and that’s just about it.” Emori’s voice snapped back into focus as her friend handed her a spatula. “Why don’t you do the last two orders and then get out of here? Your training's done in five, anyways.”

It was reasonable enough, and Emori’s kindness could potentially ensure her a quick, unimpeded exit strategy. It was a kind gesture, likely driven how her friend picked up on how nervous she was. Even with the numbing tinctures, her body language always managed to give herself away.

“I appreciate it, Emori. Thank you for today.” She took hold of the orders Wells had just put in a minute prior and brought it with her to the grilling area.  One beef burger, one cod burger. Two orders of fries. It was about as simple a set of orders as she could get.

Anya worked the grills, counting down the seconds to freedom. She’d walk back to the cave, enjoy the cool breeze rolling into the mainland and the purple tint twilight cast across the land, she’d get a few dozen pages into her new book, and would call it a night.

It was a good plan for the end of what, all things considered, had been a good day.

She was just setting both plates up onto the counter for Wells to hand off to the customers when she caught a whiff of sea water and sweat. Dread immediately pooled in her gut over her misfortune. “You reek.” She lied, hoping to dissuade the girl.

“We need to talk.”

Clarke’s voice shook, though Anya couldn’t quite tell if it was from anger from her snarky jab, or from fear. Whatever the case, Clarke wasn’t upset enough yet to tell. Key word being ‘yet’.

“I’m fairly certain we don’t.” She retorted, removing her apron and tossing it into her backpack. Just because Clarke wanted to interrogate her, it didn’t mean she had to make time for it. Besides, the fewer details Clarke knew the better.

Anya was just reaching the side exit to the building when she heard a familiar deep rumbling sound coming from the direction of the beach parking lot. As swiftly as she could, she darted to the nearest window to peer out, only for Clarke to grab hold of her wrist and yank her back. In an instant, she found herself pressed hard against the wall, Clarke chest to chest with her, smelling damn fine. “No, you do _not_ get to keep running away. What the hell is going on?!”

“Clarke, hey, ease up on the new girl, she’s…”

“Whoa, is everything okay? How’s about you stop manhandling Anya, Clarke…”

“She’s not going anywhere until…”

The mix of voices and the pressure of Clarke's body were too much, and they were wasting too much time. If her father had come here, the first place he’d stop was to see Emori. She needed to not be visible when he did, and they were running out of time, so she pushed aside her overactive lesbian fantasies and did the only logical thing.

She swung a hand up to cover Clarke’s mouth and lunged forward, sending the both of them tumbling behind the wall separating the front portion of the store from the kitchen area. She was immediately overcome with a whirlwind of fury squeezing at her heart, Clarke yelling into her hand and struggling against her grip. Anya held the lifeguard down with every bit of energy she could muster, eyes pleading at her to be quiet.

Which was ineffective, of course, at least until her father’s voice rang through the shop. “Been looking for my daughter, Emori.” Her body went tense at the sound, eyes clenching shut for the briefest of moments. Whatever Clarke saw or felt was enough to put a halt to the struggle, the lifeguard’s brow furrowing in clear confusion. “Word is she’s working here, and I need to speak with her. Is she in there with you?”

“No, sir. She came by here earlier to check on me and catch up, but then we got a rush of customers. I haven’t seen her since, and you know I’d say somethin’ if I had. You’ve always been good to us.” Emori answered casually. Lying to her father was not something people did without consequence, but Emori was as skilled as they came in the art of manipulation. It made her scary, but she trusted Emori with her life. Hell, not just her own. “If you’d like, I could leave her a message next time she comes on by?”

“It’s nothing urgent. I’m just trying to settle a few debts with her. I’m sure I’ll get a hold of her sooner than later when she caves in and comes home.” Her father’s words were a promise, if nothing else, that he’d get what he felt he was owed, and he wasn’t about to let things go. Maybe she was paranoid, but his word selection had her thinking maybe he’d already found her little sanctuary. Yet, if so, why say anything about it to Emori? And yet, could she take the risk to go back, knowing his fury would only multiply when her bonding with Clarke was revealed? "You be careful out there tonight. Roads can get real dark on the way back into town.”

“Thanks. You too, Mr. Haywood.” Emori let out, second after painfully lengthy second passing before she tapped her signature ‘all clear’ code on the wooden floor. It’d been years since Anya had heard it, last time being nearly a decade ago when they’d played a form of spotlight tag, but she understood in quickly, leaning back on her heels and uncovering Clarke’s mouth. The lifeguard's grip on her hip and shoulder took an understandable moment or two to fall slack.

Anya offered Clarke an apologetic smile before getting to her feet, but Clarke was suddenly right there, yet again, eyes all wild. This time, though, it was concern swirling around in them rather than anger. “What was that all about?”

“I’m seconding that. Why the heck did you tackle Clarke like that?” Wells probed, an edge sharpening his voice, clearly not happy with her. Emori thankfully stepped between them, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you serious?”

“You don’t gotta worry about a thing. I told you she’s a friend of mine, and she needed help. Did she hurt you, Clarke?” Emori asked, voice calm as the early evening air outside.

“I’m fine.” Clarke insisted, setting Wells a little more at ease as the lifeguard refocused back on Anya. “Was that guy talking about you? You’re his daughter?”

Anya rolled her eyes and sat down on a nearby crate; it wasn't a surprise that Clarke didn't remember her father; his life had been busier back then. There didn’t seem to be any avoiding at least some sort of talk. She’d been sparse on details to everyone so far, but maybe if they knew a little bit, it’d give her more room to breathe. “My father tried to sell me off to marry his friend’s daughter. Emori, you remember Lysette Monahan.”

Her friend predictably stepped forward with murder in her eyes, fists clenched at her sides. “Like _hell_ if that motherfucker thinks he can shack you up with that middle-aged mega-bitch!” Emori shouted, turning and slamming her hand down on the counter. “Why didn’t you say anything?! Shit!”

Wells took a half step forward, staring at her all sidelong. “Wait, arranged marriages? That’s still a thing here?”

Anya shrugged. “His best friend is practically royalty in our community and offered a dowry. My dad doesn't know it yet, but he can’t collect it anymore, and he’ll be…upset with me.” She explained as simply as she could, necessarily mincing words. “I needed a job to earn enough money to get as far from him as I can get.”

“A _dowry_?” Clarke let out in a pained gasp, lifting an arm and taking hold of her wrist, thumb tracing over the bracelet. “Does that have anything to do with this? Because if it did, and he accidentally dropped the thing, and I broke it and he’s pissed off at you for that…then that’s on me. But a dowry? _What_?”

Emori stomped over and grabbed Clarke’s wrist, lifting it for inspection. “How did you get this?” No sooner had the words left her mouth that Emori's eyes were sharply fixated on her, shooting wild disbelief her way.

“It was on the floor. I picked it up and put it on, like an idiot, I guess.” Clarke noted dismissively, but Emori knew. The way her friend’s focus kept darting between them in unrestrained shock made that clear enough. “What?”

“You’re right, you and Anya need to talk. Wells and I need to close up shop.” Emori asserted, giving her a look that screamed for her not to blow Clarke off. “Clarke, why don’t you go get changed and drive Anya home. That should give you all plenty of time to air things out, like old times.”

Anya felt warmth rush to her face at what Emori wanted from her. She didn’t have a home for Clarke to drive her to. She couldn’t stay at Emori’s when her father might be watching. She couldn’t go back to her cave when her father might have eyes on it, too. She couldn’t go home knowing her father absolutely would be there.

She didn’t have anywhere to go that Clarke would recognize as a ‘home’. She wasn’t certain what exactly Emori was up to, but whatever it was, she was going to have an uncomfortable as hell drive to wherever she decided to rest her head tonight.

On top of that, now that Emori knew what was going on, Anya knew there was a lime limit on how long she could delay telling Clarke the truth, like Emori had told Wells the truth a half year ago. It was always a hard discussion to have, and it usually ended up with either the cops being called or someone passing out from fainting or a panic attack. Neither of which, of course, were ideal when stuck in a steel death trap going forty miles an hour.

Damn it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to thank folks for the warm welcome back, I hope you all enjoy this second portion. This won't be a weekly update thing, but I did get time this weekend to think over what direction to take this story in, so I feel confident putting this portion out there now
> 
> TW: blood, cutting, that sort of stuff all below late in the chapter

Clarke knew she was unraveling.

How could she not, when once again faced with a situation she couldn’t find any logic or reason in? Where the very laws of physics were yet again laid to waste? It didn’t help that Anya, her old sketchy childhood friend hadn’t provided any real answers. At least, none that made a lick of sense in the ten or so minutes of conversation they’d somewhat managed since getting in her car.

“So let’s go over this one more time…”

“Sure.”

“You’re telling me that magic is not only real…”

“Mmmhm…”

“…but that I, for reasons unknown to you, saw an invisible piece of jewelry linked to you, and when I put it on it bonded us in some way, and that’s why I can’t remove the bracelet.”

“Close enough.”

“And that’s why your father will want to maim you or ship you off somewhere, because you share a bond with me now, instead of having some sham marriage with the woman he was supposed to sell you to.”

“More or less.”

Clarke let out a huff and pulled the car over to the side of the road, throwing it in park. It was getting hard to think straight, so how could she expect to drive straight when her head was an increasingly tangled mess? There wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to risk crashing her already ailing car.

Not to mention her heart was beating a few miles an hour faster than the damn speed limit at the prospect of being 'bonded' to Anya, even if it was in some abstract sense. It'd been eleven weeks since Finn, and she felt a bit of yearning when it came to finding a special sort of connection again, whether romantic or just platonic. Maybe this could help, but she had to be careful; her heart was only so durable, and this magic stuff was twisting up not only her mind, but her stomach as she tried to stave off any deeper thoughts on what it all might mean for pretty much everything important in life.

“That plays out like a nice fairy tale, but I’m going to need something, anything, to back up your claims.” She stated, trying to sound calmer than her contorted insides truly were. The idea of being bonded in some abstract way wasn't upsetting. It was the fact that magic was the cause of it, _that_ was what terrified her.

Still, there was a way of figuring out once and for all if any of this was real, and hopefully Anya would take her direction and offer those answers willingly. Hopefully those answers would come with evidence.

“You were scared about a half hour after I left your tower on the beach.” Anya chimed in quietly, head angled up to stare out the sunroof. "You drank some of it, only to find it was full again the next time you picked it up. That scared you, because you didn’t see me come by the tower to give you a re-fill.”

The relief poured out of her in a thick sigh, happy her logical guess had been right. “So you _did_ come out and re-fill it when I wasn’t looking. Bet you enjoyed my little freak-out.”

“No. I didn’t leave the food shack for the rest of my shift, Wells and Emori will vouch for that. Your bottle re-fills itself whenever you’re near a body of water.” Anya let out a hard laugh. “I did that specifically so I wouldn’t have to deal with your questions, and look where that got me.”

“You’re a really difficult bitch, has anyone ever told you that?” Clarke sniped, earning an easy nod from her passenger. She didn't understand why Anya had to be so blatant about not wanting to be near her. “You expect me to believe that my bottle magically refilled itself?”

Anya shrugged. “You probably drank most of your bottle before coming in to harass me in the shack. End of your shift, no need for me to refill it, or for you to get one. It was probably pretty light when you tossed it into your bag before coming to interrogate me.”

All of that was true. She’d expected to have to do a lot of talking, so she’d nearly emptied the second bottle from the last hour of work and prep for her inquisition combined. It had been nearly empty when she put it in the bag in the backseat, and from there, she’d made a beeline for the shack. There hadn’t been time to top it up.

Clarke reached into the backseat and pulled a heavier than expected bag onto her lap. There was no reason for it to be that heavy, but maybe it was just her waterlogged swimsuit. That, at least, made some manner of sense. There was no other logical reason, none at all, and the only reason her heart was beating so fast was because Anya was a shifty asshole.

“And now you’re scared to open the bag and see a full thermos of water in there.” Anya added, earning a glare that the girl didn’t seem to notice, since she was too busy looking up at the sky. It was preposterous; she wasn’t at all terrified of a damn thermos, or what it could mean for her understanding of physics if it was somehow suddenly full of water. “You don’t have to understand everything. It’s okay to just know how something is.”

“I’m not scared, and it’s important not to take things on faith.” Clarke insisted, eyes narrowing as Anya brought a hand up to rest over her own heart.

“This tells me you’re scared. You don’t need to be. Just keep on being a lifeguard and drink from your bottles. There won’t be a tear in the space-time continuum, nothing bad will happen from keeping hydrated, I promise.” Anya’s lazy words washed over her, but she could hardly focus on any of them after the first five.

The way Anya’s hand laid right over her heart, the slight wincing at the edges of her eyes, the shallower-than-normal breathing, it all brought her back to when she was in the restaurant, when Anya’s father spoke. For days, she’d occasionally feel some vaguely negative emotions out of the blue, but back there with Anya? His words had sent a spike of fear piercing her heart, and there was no rhyme or reason why, since she hadn’t recognized the voice at all. That’s what had confused her enough to stop fighting back, too startled from the feeling to really do anything else but figure out what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, the abstract concept of being bonded found material form, and Clarke wasn't sure whether to feel panicked or in awe.

“That was _you_ that I felt? Back in the restaurant?” She asked, week-old thoughts making their swift return as she thought even farther back. “And…after the shop? God, I almost collapsed from that panic attack, and I couldn’t figure out why!”

“I’m sorry.” Anya’s words escaped in a whisper, and if the remorse wasn’t evident enough in those near-silent syllables, the twitch at the corner of her lips and the glassiness in her eyes clinched it. “It won’t happen again. I’ve made sure of it.”

Clarke took off her seatbelt and shut the car off. “Well, it happened today, in the food shack, so…” She ran a hand through her hair, and then again in hopes of getting it to stop shaking so damn much. “Fuck, none of this makes sense.”

“Yes, well…” Anya’s words died on her tongue, the girl giving her head a shake before reaching over to Clarke’s bag and pulling open the zipper. “Seeing is believing, they say.”

Anya grabbed the handle of the thermos and hauled it up into the air, the canister swinging sluggishly, as if carrying a hefty amount of fluid inside. Clarke reached out, heart pounding, and took hold of it. The thermos’ immediate weight had her hands dipping, nearly dropping it in shock. “Oh my god…”

It was empty. Correction: it was supposed to be empty, but it clearly wasn’t, and unless some prank was being pulled where some random person broke into her car and filled the thermos in her bag, this was real. It was real, and nothing in the world could keep her confidence in the laws of physics from falling apart, so maybe that's why she found herself trembling, breaking out in a cold sweat as she wondered if maybe she was hallucinating.

A hand smoothing through her hair snapped Clarke from her thoughts and let her focus break through the pounding pulse at her temples. “Shhhhhhhhh, you’re alright." The uncharacteristic care had Clarke jolting away, wary eyes scanning her passenger whose hand recoiled in turn. Anya's eyes narrowed sharply, posture taking a defensive turn. A wave of regret hit her; she and Anya had butted heads almost as long as they'd known each other, and as much as her gut response was justified, the concept of a different dynamic between them was enticing. She truly did like when people played with her hair, too, and as soon as that hand was gone, she wanted it back. Not that she'd ask for it. "You're scared. It's okay to be scared, but there's nothing to fear. It's water."

The words came out much flintier than the underlying message communicated, not demanding anything of her but a bit of sober thought as she came to grips over the notion of magic existing.

"You're expecting me to be calm and rational about goddamn _ma-_..."

"Magic is just science we don't understand yet. At least, that's what scientists have decided in the past, so why is this any different?" Anya interjected with a cocked eyebrow, using her background against her, and for a moment, it was a precise hit.

Until she recognized that it'd take a hell of a lot of leaps in science to not only transfer matter across space, but to clean the salt out of the ocean water in the process. Maybe there was some science behind it, but it wasn't anything within generations of what they currently had, so it may as well be considered magic even if it wasn't.

In short, it really wasn't much of a comfort.

Still, she appreciated the sentiment, and the fact Anya cared enough to make an effort to calm her. "Desalination and...and...I can't even think of what sort of fucking science you'd need to make that happen, but it's just...I can't even, Anya. I just can't."

Anya shook her head and snatched the thermos from her hands, taking a quick gulp from it. "It's a thermos. It's full of water, and I'm thirsty." Anya took another long gulp, using the back of her hand to wipe across her mouth before spinning the cap back in place. "Look, it's real. We're bonded, you and I feel each other's emotions, and this thermos re-fills itself with drinkable water when you're near the ocean. You know all this to be true, so at least try and accept that even if you feel you need to figure out how it all works later. Can you do that? Can we just get past that for now?"

The frustration was so evident across Anya's face that it would have been easy to miss the pain and anxiety cracking at the edges of her eyes. Like a kick in the gut, she remembered exactly what prompted their talk, and the fear that had lanced through her chest back in the shack.

Here she was freaking out about goddamn science, things absolutely outside of her area of expertise, nothing she'd be able to hypothesize about accurately anyways. Pointless. Anya, however, had a pressing issue of her father and the serious threat he seemed to pose if the pure fear he elicited was any indication.

Hell, if Anya was scared back in the shack, then no doubt the girl was still scared, just keeping it in check enough for her not to feel it. Maybe it was the girl's pride, maybe it was Anya wanting to spare her. Either way, Clarke had to do something, and the only way she'd know what to do was to know more.

As she considered their situation, she realized she'd missed getting an answer to a pivotal question earlier. "Wait, you never gave me directions home." The omission had her brain burning, recalling the fear from back in the shack when Anya's father came by. Maybe she had a sneaking suspicion why Anya was so tight lipped.

"You're going the right way. No need." Anya noted with more defensiveness than usual, rolling her eyes as if she'd just asked a completely unreasonable question.

"Well, why don't I toss it in the GPS?" She probed, Anya's features growing harder after the request.

"It's not necessary."

Clarke narrowed her gaze on the girl. "Because you can't go home, right?" She asked, seeing a flicker of defeat roll over Anya's face. "I'm not about to let you go full-on forest hermit on us, Anya. It's not happening, not today."

Anya's focus snapped completely over to her. "What the hell did Emori tell you?" The stark betrayal etched across Anya's face quickly vanished as soon as it came, realization visibly washing over her that she'd said too much.

Clarke didn't need to be a genius to catch on, even if it was literally freaking unbelievable. "You are _not_ sitting here telling me you're a goddamn forest hermit." The calm of her voice hid the raging disbelief, Clarke outraged at the gall of Anya to mess with her hospitality like that, to assume that she wouldn't keep her word in dropping Anya home. Anya just stared out the passenger window, averting her gaze enough for Clarke to not be able to catch her eye anymore. As if she could ignore her. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're fucking camping out under a _tree_?!"

"I'm not helpless, I have shelter." Clarke's bullshit detector rang off on full blast.

"Yeah, because there's a surplus of vacant homes scattered around the fucking forest." It was too ridiculous for words, and Clarke decided she didn't really need any more, certainly not to convince anyone. She shifted the gear stick to drive and pulled back onto the road.

That, predictably, got her passenger's attention. "What are you doing?" Anya sounded more tired than anything, which fit now that she knew the girl was a goddamn forest hermit, probably sleeping on dirt, or gnarled roots of a fallen tree, or whatever. She imagined it was hard to sleep while roughing it in the wild.

"I'm taking you home."

"I literally just told you I have shelter."

"A tree canopy is not shelter!"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course it's not, but I have a perfectly good cave that I..."

Clarke slammed the brakes, a bit unnecessary since she'd only just begun accelerating.

Still, her body froze at how utterly preposterous the whole scenario was. "Shut the ever-loving-fuck up." She turned her head and met the burning gaze of an intensely aggravated and embarrassed Anya. Clarke took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but the implications were just too much to keep silent with. "If everything you said's true, then I'm emotionally-bound to a _cave_ woman. I am NOT going to be bound to a cave woman. You're coming home with me, and that's final."

"We're not even _friends_ , Clarke, you don't..."

She didn't want to make a habit of interrupting Anya, not with how increasingly incensed the girl looked at each instance, but it was necessary. "I do. I do, because you're not going to sleep in a cave. I'm not bound to a _cave woman_ , Anya. That's not happening. A snarky, witchy, superstitious girl who can apparently wield magic? Sure, I guess, if I have to. But not _that_. You'll have a _bed_. You'll have a roof over your head that's not the interior of a hollowed out bit of _dirt and rock_. You're a friend of my friend, and you being closer can maybe help me wrap my head around all of...well...this _ridiculousness_. So you're staying in the guest bed."

"And if your parents say no?"

Clarke waved a hand in the air, dismissing the argument as if she were swatting a fly. "They're away on vacation for almost a week, don't worry about that for now. Worry about the fact that your father used a bunch of innuendo about caves when he popped by the shack, so you're probably not safe back there."

She opened her mouth, about to continue, but catching herself in time to correct herself. It wouldn't do to mortify Anya any more than she already was; Anya didn't need to know she'd literally never felt the sort of fear that she'd felt in those two times the girl's emotional defenses fell enough to seep through.

As aggravated as she was, she had a heart. No one deserved to feel that sort of fear.

"We don't know he found where I was." Anya griped, scowling as Clarke started accelerating again on the empty road. It was a good lie, but a lie nonetheless, even if Anya didn't show much of any sign of it. Anyone that scared wouldn't take such a risk, regardless.

"Did you leave a lot of stuff back there?" She glanced to the side just in time to catch Anya rolling her eyes.

"I pack light." Apparently, that was a no, which was predictable enough, she supposed. "What's your angle?"

The accusation had her reeling a little, so Clarke focused on the road, trying to shake off the fact that Anya was turning her generous offer back in her face. Sure, she did have an angle, but it's not like Anya had to call her on it.

"Like I said, I just want to understand all this, and having you close could help. And you're Emori's friend, and she's Wells' girlfriend...they'd want you safe, so you'll be safe." She couldn't begin to understand what Anya's father could do, what drove Anya to such fear of him, but if she could hole Anya away and keep her free of danger for a while, at least until they figured out a plan, then so be it.

Anya's head turned to face her, and though just through her peripheral vision, she could sense the intensity of Anya's gaze. "Clarke..." Her name came out slow and tired off of Anya's lips. Whatever was left of the girl's pride, it wasn't enough to hide her exhaustion. The nights spent in the damn cave must have taken a serious toll.

"You'll be safe."

 At that Anya sunk into her seat and crossed her arms, leaving her to drive them home in silence, hoping that things would work out. She had six days to make it happen, at least, buying her enough time to at least figure out some semblance of a plan.

She wouldn't be able to do it alone, though. Clarke could only hope Anya was up to the challenge of teamwork.

* * *

 

"So this is it."

Clarke's words rang out in the rather cavernous guest bedroom, a much larger space than she'd ever resided in. The decor was obnoxiously white, the only colour in the space being the hardwood floors, most of which were covered up by a fluffy, plush white rug. Aside from that, it was all a mess of white silk and lace, pin tucked and ornate textures, and an egregious amount of pillows.

It was exceedingly over the top, almost ridiculously so, and Anya turned to Clarke to protest. Or, certainly, at least to see if she could redecorate temporarily without drawing too much ire.

How this was at all a guest bedroom baffled her. Unless their regular guest was some ten year old wannabe Disney princess, at least.

Clarke laid a hand on her shoulder, the knowing look in her eyes telling Anya that her host anticipated her response. "I know, it's all a bit much. It was supposed to be my room once upon a time...I was my dad's 'princess', and he mostly took that literally, something my friends mocked me about a few times. I had a sleepover in the guest bed, and then kind of just...set up camp there permanently. Mom doesn't like throwing things out or selling things for less than what she paid, so they just kept this room as it was."

Anya nodded in understanding, looking around the room with new eyes as her suspicion has been pretty much dead on. "So I'm staying in a twelve year old's bedroom." To Clarke's father's credit, the room really did look fit for a princess-loving pre-teen. Back when they were much younger, and still friends, Anya might have thought it pretty nice; she'd only really ever seen Clarke's actual room, and that had only been a handful of times. It wasn't a surprise that Clarke had forgotten.

"The bed's super comfortable, if it's any consolation." It was not.

Still, it was shelter, it was dry and cool, and it was somewhere her father likely wouldn't think to look. That was enough, at least for now.

She couldn't help but be thankful when Clarke's phone went off, bringing their little interaction to something of an end for the moment, hopefully. She wasn't sure how to tell someone to leave her alone in their own home. She needed time to think.

Clarke lifted the phone to her ear. "Yeah, O? What's up?" Anya watched as Clarke went tense, blood rushing to her cheeks. "God, I forgot all about that. Yeah, we're still on for tonight. Come over, I'll be setting up when you and the others get here."

Anya made her way over to the bed, sitting down on the corner of it and raising her eyebrows at her host. "Exciting night ahead?"

Oddly enough, Clarke ducked her head slightly. "Something like that." Clarke scratched the back of her neck. "I need to go...do stuff. There's food in the kitchen, and you can wander around, get a feel for the place. I'll be in the basement with some friends until late, so if you need anything, that's where I'll be."

Clarke vanished down the hall, leaving her to the stark silence of her new room. Anya immediately shut off the lights, made a beeline for the window seat, and opened the window. The sounds of the forest washed into her room, the last minutes of twilight ticking away; with the decor of the room, everything seemed to be cast in a dark, pale purple.

She took a breath and slumped down against the gaudy-yet-comfortable pillows, her head resting against the wall as she peered out, smiling at the sight of fireflies a little far off near the end of the back yard. Griffin's house was on the edge of town, in a nice little nook of wooded property, and she could at least appreciate that.

As much as she was uncomfortable with being there, Clarke was right. Living there, if just temporarily, would buy her time and ensure she eluded her father's reach. That was all that mattered, at least for now.  Safety was underrated, and time was precious; if her father found her cave, she at least had a few days to figure out her next step, to try her hand at getting the hell out of the region without being noticed.

The sound of crickets met her ears and she closed her eyes, wondering how long it would take for her and Clarke to be at each other's throats. Clarke was nothing if not aggressive, and incessantly nosy when it came to just about everything. It was mortifying enough to have let her emotional control slip earlier at the beach; she could hardly imagine the humiliation of letting things slip further.

She'd always been fairly tight-lipped, but her temper could get her in trouble, her lips growing loose when anger or fear overtook her. Combining that with being a useless lesbian, she truly was in a dangerous situation.

The sound of her stomach gurgling reminded her she hadn't eaten in nearly a complete twenty-four hours. Maybe some food would do her good. Goddess knew she'd need a distraction for the rest of the night if she was going to survive this.

* * *

 

It was the moment of truth.

She'd spent an hour and a half pacing in the kitchen, humming and hawing about what to make for herself. Or, more accurately, what she was allowed to eat. She wasn't used to opening a fridge and finding food she wasn't sure she could eat with a hundred percent certainty.

Boundaries were important, of course.

Clarke had long escaped downstairs to the basement with her friends, not even coming up for a bathroom break. Perhaps there was one down there, she wasn't entirely sure. Either way, she'd hoped the lifeguard would make a brief interlude up to the kitchen area so she could get some clarification on what exactly she was allowed to eat, especially after she'd started.

Alas, she'd been left with no such luck whatsoever. The best idea her tired mind could cobble together was that if she made something and shared it, that maybe Clarke wouldn't be too upset at her if she ate the wrong thing.

Not that she had too deep of an investment in Clarke's feelings, but she was more or less stuck there with the girl as her host. It wouldn't do to put herself at additional risk, even if she wasn't such a fan of her current situation.

Two and a half hours later, she set the fruits of her labour onto the kitchen island; the lasagna was steaming hot, freshly out of the oven, and the roasted greens to go along with it were seasoned to perfection. The aroma of her bolognese sauce mixing with the fresh parmesan and mozzarella was tantalizing, making it hard to keep from immediately dipping into it.

Her delicious distraction had lasted a good long while, but now she was left with food to eat, food made by ingredients from her host's fridge. It was only fitting to offer her spoils before diving in and sating her own hunger. That was just bare minimum courtesy, after all.

Besides, she was fairly certain that Clarke hadn't eaten in quite some time, at least since mid-day. Clarke was sure to be at least a little hungry, and probably the others were as well. She'd been cowardly enough in taking two and a half hours to prep and cook food, her pride couldn't swallow taking much longer in avoiding her host.

"To hell with it..." She muttered to herself, setting the lasagna and greens on a large wooden serving tray, along with utensils, spices, plates, and cups. After all, if there was a bathroom downstairs, they'd at least have tap water. It was heavy, but she managed as she carefully descended the stairwell into the basement, the sound of excited bickering quickly meeting her ears.

"You need to stop using that one, it's goddamn cursed!"

"Shut up, I'm trying my best!"

"Yeah, and your cursed shit is getting in the way of that, so switch it up for once!"

"Better to just put it out of its misery. Melt it down, toss it."

"Come on, it was a gift..."

"A gift from _Finn_..."

"Oh, well, that explains it. Junk it!"

A clearing throat broke through the cacophony. "You step forward and swing out with your war-hammer, but as you plant your foot, you find you've stepped in the greasy, slick substance Corbin cast earlier. Niramour, your hammer sails through the air, but as you shift your weight and lean into the strike, you lose your footing, the weight of the hammer swinging you around...and around...and around, until you fall on your ass, prone in front of the Giant Ape. The crowd's roaring with anticipation of bloodshed, waiting to see if it pummels you like it did Kady." Emori's voice rang out, drawing Anya to a halt at first, before spurring her onward, finding comfort that she'd at least have one friend nearby.

She wasn't sure who those people Emori mentioned were, or why a giant ape was relevant, but she was sure she'd have answers to that eventually if she cared to ask.

Deciding now was as good a time as any, she made her way around the corner and into the large rec room, knocking at and pushing the partly opened door the rest of the way. Five heads immediately turned in her direction, the sight of Octavia, Emori, Clarke, and two mostly unfamiliar faces greeting her.

One of the unfamiliar ones shot up to her feet, eyes wide and glimmering with excitement. "An angel has brought tidings of comfort and joy upon us!" She wasn't sure how to take the odd selection of words, sensing a little sarcasm, or maybe mockery, but she could see nothing but genuine enthusiasm from her as the unknown girl darted across the room to her. "Seriously, we've been starving to death down here, Emori's a fucking taskmaster and won't let us have a break."

"It's not my fault you all keep finding ways to screw up and extend the combat session." Her friend shot back, cocking a brow as she peered with interest at the tray Anya carried. "Well, since you're already knocked out, Raven, maybe you can..." Emori's voice trailed off, face twisting in realization before turning to Clarke. "I...I'm sorry, I need a sec. Clarke, I thought you'd drive Anya to _her_ home, not here, but that's pretty cool that you hashed things out. Just don't tell me you had her cooking up there for _us_ instead of hanging down here where the action is."

Raven helped her set the tray down on the nearby bar counter, freeing Anya up to pipe in just as the food was securely set down. "I got hungry. I just wasn't comfortable eating her out of house and home, so I thought to share."

Clarke, who had steadily held her surprise since she'd entered, simply nodded, still staring at her as if she was some unknowable puzzle. "That works for me. I think we could all use some food, so thanks." Her host's words slipped out with more caution than was probably normal, drawing Emori's attention.

Her friend cast a concerned glance between them, but remained quiet as Anya quickly sliced up the lasagna and plated it, setting out servings for most of them, having fallen one plate short. There was plenty of lasagna left, so she stepped away. "I'll be back, feel free to help yourselves."

Her hunger ensured she bounded up the stairs, having been too close to food to not feel her stomach folding in on itself with yearning. She jogged into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and pulled out another plate. She'd just reached over to her side for the silverware when she noted Emori was right there behind her. Damn ninja woman.

"So what's actually going on? Because if you two aren't friends now, then..."

Emori's inquisitions were never particularly all that fun, so she decided to cut her off at the proverbial pass. "Clarke insisted I come here. She...made a compelling argument that the place I was staying wasn't safe anymore, and that my father wouldn't find me here. It's only temporary."

Emori crossed her arms, weight shifting as her hip cocked to the side. "And did you two actually talk it out?"

"We didn't talk about _that_ , if that's what you're talking about. Not really." Emori's groan had frustration burning in her gut, enough to mask the fear bubbling there about, well, everything to do with the mess between her and Clarke. Emori was wonderful, but she meddled far too much for one's own good. "It's not important."

"Yeah, because meeting your fucking soul mate is something to toss onto the backburner like it's a damn burden you'd sooner forget about." Emori seethed, her fist balling up and clutching at the neckline of Anya's top. "You know with a few damn words, this could all be over."

Anya shook off Emori's grip and the sting of a certain S-word, grabbed the utensils she needed, and slammed them onto the plate. "We're not talking about this."

Emori was right on her tail as Anya made a beeline for the basement, her friend slipping in front of her just in time to block the stairwell. "I don't give a shit about if you like her, okay? I don't fucking care, but if your dad's trying to find you, if he could hurt you, and you had a way to keep that from happening, then you'd be a fucking dumbass not to take that and run with it."

It was the most ridiculous idea, certainly not one she'd take any time entertaining.  "It's not happening. I don't have the right to do that, and again, we're not talking about this. Not _now_."

"You know what he'll do if he finds out you're already bonded." Emori challenged, sending her brain running wild with all types of overreactions typical to his sense of callous disregard. Those thoughts, of course, were swiftly followed up by a storm of responses she was sure Clarke might have in return, which were equally frightening or depressing. If not for the nearby wall she managed to lean up against in time, her knees might have buckled beneath her. "Exactly, I don't need to tell you that. And he _will_ find out, so we need to do something."

"Yes, but not _now_." She breathed, exasperation swirling amidst the terror in her chest. Her voice drew thin, soft. "Not now."

Emori held fast, still blocking the way as a storm of emotions washed across her face. The sound of a creak behind her had her friend letting out a sigh and stepping aside. The way wasn't clear for long, Clarke emerging around the corner of the stairwell a moment later, peering up with worry creasing the edges of her eyes.

Because of course Clarke would feel her fear and come running.  Why Griffin needed to make things harder than they already were, Anya wasn't sure she'd ever know.

"Is everything okay?" The seeming sincerity caught her off guard, even if it probably wasn't legitimate. Clarke could feel her emotions, it didn't mean she cared about them past whatever annoyance they brought upon the girl.

Anya made her way down, squeezing past Clarke. "Fine." She bit out, taking no enjoyment in the way her host recoiled at the sharpness 0of her words. As much as she didn't like being cold, it served both of them well to keep a solid gap between their lives. Or, at least as large of one as possible.

It was hard to worry too much about that with her stomach rumbling so fiercely, so she made her way to the food and gave herself a healthy helping of lasagna and greens. She took in the delightful aroma, focusing at hard on it as she could manage, shutting out all the recent negativity if just for the briefest instance.

It was a wonderful little reprieve, even if her spidey-senses tingled not long after, Emori hovering at her side. Her tenacity was getting to be exhausting. "What now?"

"You're going to sit in with us and make a character. As long as you're here, you're in the game." The notion of playing pretend with the group was less than appealing, but Emori had given quite a bit of ground, and offered quite a bit of patience. It wouldn't do to deny her friend something simple as her company.

Anya sighed and took a bite of lasagna, savoring the delicacy for as long as she could before nodding. "So, what does this entail?"

* * *

 

It was more than a little odd, completing the second half of their gaming session with Anya curled up in the recliner, quietly filling out her character sheet. Her houseguest had been silent since they'd taken a break for dinner, legs tucked under her, face occasionally twisting in thought. In a vacuum, Anya looked kind of adorable, but the memory of the girl's ridiculousness and how frustrating she was made it hard to enjoy the view.

Or, well, harder. Anya was seated practically right across from her, she could hardly be blamed for letting her gaze linger more often than not.

Their party managed to scrape their way past the giant ape and the security detail, if just barely, dragging their heavily wounded selves out of the underground fighting arena and escaping the certain death that they'd accidentally stumbled into in search for dirt on a local noble.

It'd been a frenzied, hectic finish to the session, but even with that sort of pace, she routinely caught Anya staring with intensity at them and the game board over that time, scribbling away on her collection of pages. Maybe she was just entertaining Emori, whose suggestion wasn't unwelcome given the campaign was created with five party members in mind; having someone replace Finn's abandoned character was just good for the party and the DM. Maybe Anya wouldn't take any of it seriously and would just be a passenger.

One part of her hoped as much, not really wanting to share her hobby with the girl. Another part of her wanted Anya to commit, both out of pride in the group they'd fostered together, and a moderate curiosity of who Anya was outside of the snarky girl she was acquainted with.

"The four of you wind your way back through the streets of Krasnylld, keeping to the shadows with Niramour and Yssk helping Kady's half-conscious self shuffle along, Corbin scouting out ahead. The chill in the air stings almost as much as your haphazardly patched up wounds, so stepping into the warmer confines of the Ballantyne Tavern offers you a much welcomed respite." Emori narrated, leading the group towards a natural end of the session. "With the late hour of the night, the barkeep's cleaning the counter top while two small tables of patrons are nursing drinks. Your entrance draws a few glances, but for the most part, everyone returns to their own business in swift order. Lorraine, the barkeep, narrows her eyes in curiosity at you, gaze sweeping over your exhausted, wounded bodies, but she merely ducks her head and continues her duties. No one enters her place of business looking like that if they don't have trouble following them, and she'd rather not draw even more unwanted attention and end up with a crater. She minds her business as you all pass and head to the stairs."

"I need a pitcher of whiskey." Octavia groaned, voice scratchy and frail, signaling whiskey was the very last thing her character Yssk needed. Her barbarian hadn't been wounded to near death like Raven's spell-warping sniper, but she'd taken a tremendous amount of damage across the span of the last half day, and it was quickly catching up with her. "I make a beeline towards the bar."

"Methinks you need to get _whisked_ to _bed,_ Yssk. Liquor will still be around come morning light." Monty added. "I try to steer her a little more firmly towards the stairs up to the lodgings. Niramour, are you good to help?" She offered a nod, letting Monty grab two twenty-sided die. He rolled both and grimaced. "That's a whopping zero on an athletics check. Nevermind. Maybe Niramour should have taken this one instead of the weakling wizard."

"Nooo, I wanna drink..." Octavia let out before shrugging at the chorus of sighs from the party members. "What? My character's a bit of an alky. Don't hate the player, hate the game."

Emori laughed, eyes going wide towards Raven in sympathy. "As Yssk drags you all towards the bar, Kady falls in a heap to the floor at the base of the stairs, your efforts having shifted to trying to wrangle your barbarian friend instead of your human friend who's drifting in and out of consciousness."

"Thanks, I have the best friends, clearly." Raven laughed. She thought she heard a muted laugh from over by the corner of the room, but Anya was still and stoic, focusing intently on her character sheets, so she must have just been hearing things.

Clarke rolled her eyes and mimed marching for a moment. "I go over to Kady and lift her off the floor, checking her head for any new damage."

"She's going to have a bad bruise come the morning." Emori noted simply.

"I'll just blame that on Yssk when we cross that particular bridge." She reached over and mussed up Raven's hair. "Come on, Kady, let's get you comfortable. You'll be feeling better soon, I promise."

"I'm following them up. I'm about ready to collapse, myself, but as soon as Niramour gets Kady settled into one of the beds, I lock the door and pull her aside, peeking over to make sure Kady's out before speaking." He leaned forward in his seat and locked eyes with her. "We're in danger. This was supposed to be a milk run, a tiny bit of espionage on a noble, and now we have the good fortune of an underworld crime boss wanting our heads. We need to get out of town. We need to leave as soon as we can, we probably shouldn't have even come back here."

Honestly, it wasn't anything she hadn't spent the past ten minutes thinking about. For all intents and purposes, he had a point, but they weren't fit for travel. "One of us almost bled out in the pit. She's stable, but she needs to at least rest the night. You barely made it out in one piece, and you're on the verge of collapse. Yssk is in enough pain to try and drink it away, and we both know we can't stop her there, so she was going to be messed up either way, drunk or debilitated. And I'm not in the worst shape, but all my magic is tapped out. I need a good rest, or...or at the very least, an hour. I can do an hour, but I'd only be able to help a little, and we'd be without healing for the rest of the night on whatever plan you're..."

"We're easy to find. If Hessendine could find us to hire us for this bullshit suicide run, then Branagh will be able to find us just as easily. We're on borrowed time." Monty interjected, letting out a heavy sigh. "If I thought we could safely spend the night, I wouldn't have said anything."

"I go and sit down on the other bed, running my hand through my hair as I wrack my brain." She noted openly, leaning back in her seat with a huff as she focused on Monty again. It was not often her character was left without options, and she knew it was deeply unsettling for Nira. "Corbin, if you have an idea, then just say it. I don't have time to worry about problems which I have no means of solving."

Monty glanced nervously around and looked to Emori. "Can I get Octavia and Raven to leave the room?"

"Oooooh my god, you can't just ask us to leave, it's not your house." Octavia joked as she got to her feet, Raven following suit. "I'll grab some ice cream and bring it down...eventually. After having a bowl of my own. You're on the clock, Monty."

It was a little odd, as these sorts of interactions only rarely happened, and they were usually one on ones with the DM and a player, not instigated by a player. Clarke was more than a little curious, even more so as she noticed Anya was watching them intently.

"I need you to swear yourself to silence on this. I...it's important that...I just can't have Kady knowing any of this." Clarke found herself even more confused, an emotion she knew Niramour would mirror, so she nodded along, enough to satisfy Corbin eventually. "Yssk asked before how I came into my magical abilities. She wasn't wrong, I'm abnormally talented and well-versed for my age. I'm more powerful than I have any right to be."

Clarke shrugged and leaned forward, hands resting between her knees as she studied him, mimicking her character's body language, knowing Nira wouldn't be impressed. "Nice humble-brag, cut to the chase. What are you getting at?"

"Eiflin, before he died, confronted me about how what I could do...how it wasn't natural. It wasn't. I..." Monty let out a cough, cleared his throat, and wetted his lips, the conflict warring across his face as clearly as it ever had. "...I made a deal. My soul for...for this knowledge, for these abilities."

Suddenly, it made sense. Corbin's rural accent, the physical wear and tear on his young, spindly body, the lack of connections or knowledge of any of the major schools across the empire. None of it had made any sense when considered together, but she hadn't found a reasonable alternative to fill in the blanks in his history.

Ultimately, it hadn't mattered, at least until now.

Gods, she hoped it wouldn't bring more trouble their way, but the odds of any good fortune were increasingly slim. "You made a deal with a demon. An infernal creature."

Monty shook his head sharply, disarming her next assertions and questions and leaving her with nothing but haziness. Thankfully, he was happy to clarify. "Not a demon. I...there was a traveling market that would stop near our hamlet every few years. Mostly, they sold equipment, fruits and vegetables, occasional livestock. But...word would sometimes get around about how if you visited the market after midnight, there was a vendor who could provide you with just about anything, for a price." She started putting the pieces together as he spoke, eyes occasionally drifting over to Anya, because of course. Of course that was the sort of character she'd take on. "I lived among humans, some halflings. None would do much of anything but run if they saw a goblin in the middle of the night. They'd feel thankful for escaping with their lives, if anything, but I was always a bit of an outcast, so he didn't bother me."

Clarke took in a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair, trying to figure out how Nira would handle this, but it was a lot. "You went to a goblin market and traded your soul for magic. Are you an _imbecile_? Do you know how ri..."

"I grab Niramour's armor by the neck-guard and pull her close." Monty blurted out, nostrils flaring. "I'm here in this room, breathing, because I took that deal. And I still plan on getting my soul back from him, but in the meantime, I need to survive. I met someone else in the market that night, and I won a favor from her. I know she can help us get out of this city." Monty held a hand out palm up towards her.

At that, Emori spoke up. "Corbin lifts his hand and reveals to you a token you've seen before in your childhood. The Cardinal used some to bring back Champions of the Light from the battlefield when the drow infiltrators broke into your sanctum in the assault on Gormin's Reach."

Corbin was hedging his bets on back-up.  Specifically, a person he likely hadn't known in years. This person could be dead, they could be maimed, they could be entirely useless.

All of that considered, what other options did they have?  There was only one inn in the south ward, none in the market ward. If they'd been tracked out of the northern ward, which was more than likely to some extent, then it wouldn't take a genius to find them. Hell, it probably wouldn't take longer than an hour at most.

Under a time crunch that she was suddenly explicitly aware of, Clarke just nodded, fingers gripping and scraping across her kneecaps. "So what's the story there? How can she help?"

Monty shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. All I know is she's a major general in the Qostari Clan. She came to the market trading for visions. I guess it was customary for her tribe each year, but she'd definitely done it before, it wasn't her first time, so she has to be skilled." He turned his gaze to the ground. "She didn't seem in the best spirits after, but she didn't seem in the best to begin with. Either way, we had time to kill until daylight, so we sat down for a game of three dragon ante. Things got a little interesting, and I came out with a favor. I'm calling it in."

Clarke's eyebrows ascended up her forehead; she'd expected Anya to be some major magic user like a wizard, not a warrior. When Anya had communicated all of this with Emori and Monty, she wasn't sure, but they clearly knew some basics of what she'd been working on in the recliner over the last while. Maybe it was just Monty improvising and filling in a few too many blanks without knowing what Anya had built, but still. Either way, a healthy body would serve them better than no aid at all.

Besides, using the token was a one-way trip. The general would have to leave the city to head home anyways, so it was a guarantee that their goals would mesh, at least for the time being. It was a smart play, if not without some considerable risks.

"And you're confident she can get us out?" She asked, earning a grim smile from her compatriot.

"Their people are bound by honour. She didn't seem the type to break her word and disgrace herself, and she can't exactly hurt us at this point. Our expiry date's coming up quick." Clarke knew what she thought about it all. Niramour couldn't be so easily convinced, however. 

She might lack spell slots, but she did still have her diplomat feat. A single minute long conversation, and there was a good shot at charming this person. Not exactly a foolproof means of ensuring cooperation, but better than just leaving it up to hope and luck.

"I press the token on the ground, rubbing my thumb across the outer edge of it as I perform the incantation. I slam my fist down onto it with the last word and quickly scurry back a few steps." Monty held up his hands in caution as he leaned back deep into his seat, glancing towards Emori.

"The candles in the room flicker and dim, turning a cold, dark blue, the windows blowing open and dragging the cool autumn breeze into the room. The token shakes, working itself into a sloppy spin before going airborne. You watch as it spins faster and faster, navigating a small circular path above the aging, rough wooden floor about a foot in diameter, then two, then four, the space inside growing darker and darker until you can no longer see the texture of the floor, if it's there at all in the pulsating blackness." Emori spoke, falling silent for a moment as they waited with bated breath, Clarke imagining the scene playing out in her mind clear as day. "The shadow on the ground explodes into the room, casting everything into darkness, but as quickly as your sightlessness came on, the candles return to their warm glow, the creaking wooden floors return, and the breeze falls still, leaving you face to face with a figure that you, Corbin, barely recognize. Anya, why don't you take the wheel and describe what they see?"

Anya set her papers on the coffee table and took a breath, letting it out slowly between her teeth. "You see a hooded elf with pallid features, irises nearly dark enough to be black...only the faintest hint of blue visible in the candlelight. She's hunched over and stands about an inch shy of six feet, scanning for the nearest exit, her black cloak billowing slightly as she shifts her feet around to position herself defensively. The clothes she wears are dark, mostly black, but you can make out her honey brown hair peeking out from beneath her hood." Anya let out slowly, shifting her gaze to Monty as her body language shifted to fear and apprehension. Clarke watched as the girl's eyes narrowed at her friend before a wave of realization washed across her face. "No, this is _not_ happening." Anya stated firmly, pointing at Monty before turning to Emori. "I move towards the door."

Clarke looked to Monty for some sort of response, but her friend clearly hadn't anticipated such a turn in character. Things were already going off the rails, and Niramour wasn't about to let their night get worse.

"I dart in front of her, and lean up against the door all faux-casual." She let out, earning a determined glare from Anya, one that began with a flicker of panic so brief it was almost easy to dismiss. Almost. For whatever it was worth, Anya's time in their old high school drama club paid off. "Fair travels to you, stranger. If you're looking for an exit plan, you're in luck."

"I shall make my own way, acolyte. You need not concern yourself."  The words came out with haste, but not enough to hide the tiny tremor shivering through them. A teensy, tiny tell, but a tell nonetheless.

"You've never heard of the phrase 'safety in numbers'?" Monty asked, earning a sharp glance from the newcomer.

"You can be a thousand strong, and if the gods will it, it won't matter." Anya retorted, voice low and quiet as she turned her focus back to Clarke and Niramour respectively. "I will find my own way."

"I go up to the door and stand adjacent to them both." Monty noted, fixing Anya with a firm, pleading stare. "You promised a favour. You gave your _word_."

Anya shook her head, though hesitation struck her a moment after opening her mouth to speak. It was enough to give her hope that maybe this wouldn't have to be as difficult as it was shaping up to be. "You may be the only person to believe it has any value."

One running theme in the campaign, and much of the campaign setting, was that elves tended to be prideful. They often held strong to honour systems, even if they could sometimes be unconventional. The notion of no one putting stock in the words of Anya's character had her brain buzzing with possibilities. The newcomer's recent words helped narrow those down to a stark, dreary few.

"The fact that you point that out means there's at least _two_ who want to believe your word means something." Clarke spoke, taking in the muted shock that flashed across Anya's face. She was getting somewhere. "We need help, and Corbin called for you. Will you answer the call?"

Anya let out a deep sigh, slumping forward slightly. "I step away from the door and slowly make my way to the window." The girl looked lost in thought for a few long seconds. She could hear a bit of rabble upstairs, letting her know her friends wouldn't wait for much longer. "You don't even know me. And the wizard...he met me for a handful of hours. Why call on a complete stranger?"

"You're a general of the Qostari Clan." Monty piped up, swallowing hard before taking a calming breath. "This might be our last night on this world. Who better than an experienced warrior to get us through to daylight?"

"I am a general of a dead people. The Qostari Clan is gone." There was a breathless anger radiating from Anya and her words, filling the large basement rec room despite being faintly whispered.

She couldn't quite put the pieces together, at least not with complete certainty, but they needed a way forward. They couldn't linger long. "Not yet. You survived." Anya's eyes darted off towards the door, taking on a little shine, chin lifting slightly. Maybe if she hadn't seen those same emotions in herself growing up, maybe she wouldn't have seen the tiny nuanced shifts in expression so clearly. As it was, her guest's guilt was palpable, and it was a little stunning to see Anya emote like that through a character she created just minutes ago. A somewhat clichéd trope of a character so far, but the performance was admirable nonetheless. "If it makes a difference, I promise I'll owe you a favor if you get us to safety."

The weary edge lining Anya's features only grew more visible as seconds ticked by, Anya eventually offering a long, thoughtful glance between the two of them just as Octavia and Raven stepped back into the room carrying a large tub of ice cream along with some bowls and spoons. "And this will be a dangerous task?" Clarke and Monty nodded firmly, earning a low hum. "Then you all had best finish preparing. Whatever we all need deliverance from tonight, I will aid you in it, and then you'll never see my face again."

Octavia's step stuttered, her best friend breaking out into a broad grin. "Oh shit, what'd we miss?" Emori raised an eyebrow her way, signal enough that she was letting O take some creative decisions here. "Yeah, I'm drunk and I'm kicking the door in once I realize it's locked."

"Make an athletics check." Emori noted with a smile, all eyes turning to Octavia as she plopped down beside her and rolled out her dice.

"That's a twenty three." Clarke rolled her eyes at O's result, knowing what was going to happen. Her character, after all, was pressed up against the door.

Clarke grabbed her D20 and rolled an acrobatics check, grimacing at her luck. "That's a two on acrobatics."

"Yssk kicks the door open and sends you tumbling to the ground face first, your nose colliding hard against the ratty wooden floor with nothing to cushion the fall. That's a hit point of damage, and your nose is dripping blood and swelling up. It's not gonna be a good look come morning." Emori rattled off, but it was Anya rolling a die of her own and giving Emori a surprised nod afterward that had Clarke curious as to what just went on aside from poor Niramour getting steamrolled.

"Wha'ss going on?" Octavia slurred, wildly exaggerating how drunk Yssk was. Or, perhaps not. The dragonborn barbarian might not be as hardy as she remembered, in terms of alcohol tolerance. She wasn't entirely sure.

"I wipe the blood from my face and get up, holding a hand to my nose." Clarke chimed in, pointing to Anya with her thumb. "She's helping us get out of the city. We need to get out of the city, Yssk."

Octavia blinked a few times, slowly shifting focus from party member to party member. "I can...I can fight. I'm not _that_ drunk."

Oddly enough, it was Anya pitching in before Monty or herself could get any words out. "Well, _she_ is in no condition to travel, let alone fight, so perhaps that isn't a burden you alone can bear." Anya nodded her head in the direction of Raven. "I aim to leave the city as well, we may as well band together until then."

Her best friend postured up, face twisting in indecision before getting back to her feet and joining Raven on the other couch. It was something O would do often during their sessions; her character had grown to adore Raven's over time, and she liked adding that visual element by sticking close to her often while they played. Yssk was protective of them all, but Kady especially. Only liquor tended to place higher on her priority list. "I keep Kady safe. But...I can't...I can't keep them safe, too. I don't have enough arms."

"That's why I called on her. She'll keep us safe, you can keep Kady safe, and we'll all be good by this time tomorrow. Alright?" Monty asked slowly, shifting focus to Anya. "Right?"

"We need to get moving. It'll be harder getting out of here when it's lighter out." Anya pressed, urgency saturating her voice.

"I carefully pick up Kady and cradle her against my chest." Octavia pulled Raven into a hug. "I'm good to go. Let's go."

The way Anya's face went as soft as goddamn Charmin, shooting big puppy eyes  Octavia and Raven's way, had her wondering if that was in-character acting or if it was something more sincere. The former would be a complete credit to her abilities, and would really make the coming sessions over the next few weeks much more exciting. In the latter case, well, that would tell her a lot about her guest.

Strength and vulnerability had always been attractive qualities in a person, and Anya was making it pretty clear that she had both in spades, and that she wasn't just a thorny, snarky loner.

"You all gather your supplies in short order, readying for another venture out through the city. With the aid of a new companion you head out of your lodgings and make your way downstairs and back out into the crisp night air...and that's where we'll leave it for today." Emori smiled at them all. "Shit, it's good to have a full party again. Really looking forward to seeing what you can bring to the table, Anya. And it's great knowin' you'll be right as rain here...sets my nerves at ease."

"You can thank Clarke for that, I suppose. I'm grateful." Anya noted quietly, staring hard at her character sheet.

"And I'm gonna be around more. Make sure you settle in, and have someone other than the skeptic to keep you company here." Octavia chimed in, and although she didn't appreciate the uncharitable descriptor, it would be nice to have O around more often instead of work and her boyfriend monopolizing the wealth of her time.

Clarke cocked an eyebrow at her best friend. "Hey, I'm...trying to come around. It's a lot." Realizing that Monty and Raven were in the room and probably had no idea what they were going on about, she turned focus to them. "Anya and Octavia are into...uh...supernatural-style stuff, and...magic."

"David Blaine magic, or..." Monty's voice trailed off, enough for Anya's tired sigh to be heard throughout the room.

In an instant, Anya had a small Swiss-army knife in her hand. "Monty? Raven? Pay attention." Anya held up her hand and, with what seemed as practiced care, made a small cut on the top of her arm. Clarke cringed at the action, mouth opening to warn or chide the girl, but Anya was fast, the knife falling to her lap as she smeared her hand over the wound.

Soft, mumbled words spilled out of her houseguest, the bloody hand circling her closed fist clockwise a few times, and then briefly counter. Anya's palm turned upward, fingers reaching to the ceiling.

A burst of blue flame erupted from her palm, stretching and shivering upward, licking at the air and filling the basement rec room with its eerie glow.

"Holy shit!" Monty reared back in his seat, his surprise mixing with fresh curiosity that danced across his face.  "Is that...?"

It wasn't like Monty to stumble over his words, or have words fail him, but she found herself in much the same predicament, unlike Raven who was just watching closely. There was no explanation for what they were seeing. No scientific one, at least.

And just as quickly as the flame arrived, Anya made a few swift, hard counter-clockwise rotations with her free hand and blew it out with gusto, sending a spray of snow in Monty's direction. "Snow, my hand isn't on fire." Anya's deadpan pun was absurd, almost enough to break through her bewilderment.

Watching Anya drink from her thermos was one thing. There was still some deniability there. This, however, was impossible.

No, it was magic. Apparently.

Which, well, fuck.

Monty brushed the fluffy snow off of him and onto the carpet floor where it quickly melted. "That was...I don't und...how did..." Monty stammered before taking a shaky inhale, following up with a few moments of calm silence before slowly letting out his breath. "This is a lot."

"Why the blood?" Raven asked, voice calm as ever, eyes fixated on Anya's hand where the flame and snow used to be. Raven had been at O's house for its 'cleansing', so maybe that had desensitized her enough. Or maybe Raven was just being her usual analytical self, always open to new ideas.

Anya didn't even miss a beat. "Amplifies the spell a bit. Made it easier and faster to conjure." Her answer, however, wasn't entirely what Raven was looking for, if the confusion across her face was any indication. "Lots of old stories talk about virgin blood used in magic, and rituals. It was a sort of mistranslation...fresh blood from one with the gift. 'The gift' being a natural alignment with magic. It's an ingredient in a recipe, of sorts."

That didn't dull the edge of the shock, hearing it laid out so domestically, but it did spin it in a way that was slightly easier to digest. At least for the moment.

"I need time to process, but...wow." Monty said with a sharp laugh, shaking his head slowly, over and over.

"And I need to get some sleep." Anya added, pushing herself up to her feet. "Tonight was...an adventure, and I welcome more if that's what you all decide. It was nice meeting you Raven, Monty."

Clarke offered her houseguest a wave as she passed, earning one in kind. The simple bit of civility had her eyes following Anya with open curiosity; after all, what other reason was there for watching Anya walk away and up the stairs? It wasn't as if those shorts had her legs on display or anything so enthralling. It wasn't like the sway of Anya's hips hypnotized her for a brief moment or two. Or three. Or ten.

The rest of them packed up soon after, each heading home after hugs and promises to get back together in a few days for a follow-up session. It was best to take advantage of the momentum the day's events had given them, and she welcomed it, but it'd definitely mean Anya would be around for the next one.

That would hopefully be a blessing, if the girl's role-playing held up, but it didn't give her a lot of time to process everything, and she really did want to have her story straight the next time Emori popped by with any real time to talk. She could tell as the night wore on, that Wells' girlfriend had something burning in her mind, at least by all the agonized glances she'd sent her and Anya's ways, generally in brief succession. Emori knew something about the both of them, she had something to say, and Clarke wasn't sure whether she'd be in a good enough place to answer it by then.

She certainly hoped, but as she sat alone in her basement, stewing over the impossible display Anya put on, brainstorming over how this situation even came to be, she found herself lacking answers. Hell, she couldn't begin to think of all the important questions to ask, not being sure she had a good read on the context.

Everything flowed through Anya. Like it or not, they needed to have another talk, sooner rather than later. Clarke peered down at her watch, weighing both options, going over the pros and cons of each knowing either option would have its consequences.

As the scale finally tipped to one side, she allowed herself to hope she wasn't making a big mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the lion's share of this has been hanging around for quite some time. I decided to stop editing it and just put it out so that I can move forward with it  
> Minor spoilers for The Expanse, I guess, but it's finished its third season, so I'm not sure how much that's needed at this point.

Knees pulled up towards her chest, chin digging onto her kneecap, Anya stared out the window into the dark of the night. The sound of crickets kept her company as she took a break from yet another futile attempt at sleep.

It'd been an eventful day, hours ticking by with each compounding all the building pressures from the past week. Now, in the quiet of her room, everything she'd pushed under and bottled up to get through the day was coming to the surface, and she couldn't still her body, let alone her mind. A trembling hand combed through her hair, more out of a need for distraction and comfort than anything, and since no one was there to do it for her, she had to fill that role herself.

Nothing she hadn't done plenty of times in the past. She'd eventually find the slumber she was pursuing, it was just a question of how exhausted she'd be when she found its embrace.

Just hearing her father's voice again after a few days of fear and uncertainty was like a transport truck blasting her in the chest, and thinking back to that moment had her short on breath.  It was just another reminder, truly. She had to find a way forward, faster than she'd planned, because he was clearly tracking her down little by little.

What he'd do when he found her, she wasn't sure, but it wouldn't be good.  He'd been deeply invested in finding a way to gain something from her, and from his life's work, and she'd dashed any chance of that. Or, well, Clarke had, but she'd created that opportunity, and he'd surely blame her.

Or, worse, perhaps he would blame Clarke. She wouldn't put it past him. Maybe it was fortunate she was staying at Clarke's for a time, just in case anything happened.

She still wasn't sure where she stood with the lifeguard. Clarke was concerned, and that couldn't happen if the girl didn't care about her to some extent. Even if just out of basic humanity, it mattered. Past that, there seemed to be some reluctance that Emori brought her into their game. The group did welcome her in more or less, but with the way Clarke kept looking at her, she felt a little like an intruder.

Which she was, literally, into their lives for the most part.

"Maybe I should just keep a low profile from here on out...make sure when they play their game next that I won't be around, perhaps." She mused to herself, smiling at the music of nature meeting her ears, figuring she could easily enjoy being serenaded to that kind of quiet solace as the others had their fun.

After all, who was she to come into an established group and potentially rough up their dynamic? Just because she was around didn't mean she needed to stick her nose where it didn't belong, even if Emori might be okay with it. The others didn't really get a say in the matter tonight, and she wanted to respect that.

Or, at least give them some space. Or maybe give herself some space. In the end, the result was the same, the intent didn't really matter.

Hell, somewhere in her dad's heart, she figured sending her off to be with the Monahans was something he probably thought was best for the both of them in some twisted way. It didn't change that it'd be a special sort of hell to be bonded to Lysette. Not that it already hadn't been with the lengths he'd gone to in trying and 'preserve' what he valued most in her, and the cruelty his inability to do so had fostered.

A faint knock sent her thoughts scattering into the night, Anya tilting her head toward the door and spotting Clarke peeking in. "Sorry, just seeing if you were awake." Clarke let out softly, teeth finding and gnawing on her lower lip. "Can't sleep either, huh?"

Anya yawned and stretched out her legs. "Not so much, no."

"I know, the room's a little intense." Clarke wandered across the room, perching herself on the window seat.

"It's not that." Anya flopped onto her back, wondering just how much she wanted to talk. It was a rare occasion that she did, in truth, but silence did her no favors when it came to finding which direction to head in moving forward. She needed some answers, and she couldn't get them by being broody and playing up a strong silent-type cliché, even if that had been her comfort zone for quite some time.

Clarke smirked, eyebrow cocked as she peered across the dark room at her. "Really? Because it's pretty extra, I wouldn't blame you if it was keeping you up. It's really white and bright."

"It's a tiny bit loud in its puritanical brand of femininity, but no." Anya scooted back and sat up against the mass of throw pillows. "This is to do with...with the fact that my escape plan's timeline ramped up, and I don't know how to make it happen."

"To what, get out of the city?"

"To disappear." She answered. Maybe her plan had been too ambitious to begin with, but it wasn't as if she had many options. "I needed a summer job to leave, to make sure my father wouldn't find me. He's clearly narrowed the field, so I'm short on time, meaning I'm short on money."

Clarke sat up a little straighter. "Is there another way to fix what's gone on? Maybe we can reason with him?"

The idea wasn't remotely realistic. "He can't be reasoned with. My father is the special kind of perfectionist who also believes he can't do any wrong, that he always knows best." She shook her head. "No, he can't be reasoned with. I'll have to find another way."

"I heard Emori interrogating you upstairs about something earlier. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but..."

Anya leveled Clarke with a sharp glance, not appreciating that brand of curiosity. Maybe turnabout was fair play.  "That wasn't important. However, now that we're somewhat on topic, what exactly is your goal here? What do you want from me?"

"Well that's a little paranoid. I told you...you're a friend of a friend. If you matter to Emori, you matter to me, and we share a weird bond...I want to understand it, but I need time, so having you around can help with that, too. And it's not like you're a total stranger." Clarke's story was indeed the same she gave before, and it did make sense, but there was more. She could definitely sense it.

"I may as well be to you. I'm the only one who seems to actually remember we used to be friends. You could have shoved me onto Octavia tonight, goddess knows she would have brought me on in a heartbeat, but you didn't."

"That's not fair. I _do_ remember, and I took responsibility, not O."

"And you didn't have to, so why take me in? You could have learned about magic with me staying somewhere else, you could have made sure I was safe anywhere else, but I'm _here_ , so why? Why, when you can't even remember I've been here before? I've slept over in this house a few times, and you don't even remember."

Clarke swung her legs over and got to her feet, features creasing in determination. "Don't tell me what I do or don't remember. I didn't want to make anything awkward."

Anya rolled her eyes. "Please, enlighten me. Because right now, I don't see any reason why I'm here that's not suspicious."

Her host climbed onto the bed and sidled up against her, propping her head up with her left hand. "You hated strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries. The texture of the seeds always made you gag. You loved eighties' hair rock ballads and nineties' R&B."

She could feel Clarke's body heat just rolling off her, she could smell the jasmine-vanilla body wash she saw in the bathroom earlier in the day. It was stifling in a sense, but she couldn't will herself to shift away. That didn't mean she had to give in. "Please, that was common knowledge. I played that music all the time in drama club, and everyone remembers me vomiting in junior year after I was tricked into eating a raspberry turnover. Tell me something that wasn't common knowledge."

Clarke's other hand hovered over Anya's  stomach, fingers descending until the tips faintly made contact, Clarke brushing her hand up her body. She couldn't help but twitch at the sensation. "I remember how ticklish you were. It was always kind of ridiculous."

Despite the answer being entirely accurate and a decently guarded secret, her heart kept pounding against her ribs, body buzzing with anticipation as Clarke's fingertips blazed an achingly slow path towards the outer swell of her breast. "I always hated that you weren't ticklish at all."

Her host bit her lip, hardly suppressing a grin. "Oh, I don't know. There's one or two spots you didn't get around to finding back then."

The teasing, almost flirtatious tone in her words had Anya reeling. Or, hell, maybe whiplash was a more appropriate term. She didn't have much opportunity to ponder what was happening, though, Clarke's hand suddenly growing adventurous and venturing quickly up to her armpit.

She barely got a sound of protest out before Clarke's fingers danced against her notoriously sensitive skin, jolting her body into spasms and forcing a hard laugh out of her throat. Before she knew what was happening, she'd rolled onto her stomach in a futile attempt to escape, only for Clarke to mount her back, both hands slipping under her and ticking her pits and stomach.

Through her uncontrollable, harsh laughter, she could hear Clarke's voice at her ear. "Your tricks made me squirm back then. I owed you one of these, and I'm cashing in." Clarke laughed, somehow managing to keep her held down despite bucking like a damn bronco. "Admit I know you, and I'll stop."

"F...fuck you!" Anya shot back through laughter, tears burning in her eyes. The tickling was the main culprit, but it wasn't entirely at fault, and that had mortification burning in her gut. It wasn't right to still be upset after all these years, or be turned on by the touch of another woman in the most goddamn inappropriate of moments, but her mind and body apparently had different designs. "You k...know nothing!"

She felt a hesitation in Clarke's hands for a brief moment before a hand shifted down her sides to her hips. "I know you're brave and you're strong. I know you deserve better than what's happened to you, and I know you have nothing to feel ashamed about."

Anya cursed herself internally, wishing she'd taken a tincture before retiring to her room. It'd be that much harder if Clarke could feel her. She wriggled under Clarke's body, but she couldn't manage to throw the girl off. "S...stop!"

"Not until you tell the truth! I know you!" Clarke's frenzied ministrations were too much, and the way that hand stroked at her hip over and over, it had more than a little activity stirring up down under.

With what was left of her strength and physical control, she stuck her hands underneath her and grabbed hold of Clarke's, fighting to keep them in place and flat against her body. Clarke struggled against her grip, but she held her host's hands still, buying her enough time to catch a breather and calm her heart and lungs.

All she needed was a moment before the storm of pent up words in her brain started spilling out.

"If that's true, then why did you throw me away?" Her eyes slammed shut after the all too candid words slipped out, only made that much more painful by the way Clarke sunk down against her, nose trailing down the crook of Anya's neck.

"I was a stupid kid."

"So? What kid isn't?" Anya grit out, burying her face in the sheets below. It'd been forever since she'd let her defenses drop so low, and she was exhausted. She'd already mortified herself, hardly any greater damage could be done. "I was stupid enough to think I had a friend. One day you were there, and the next, you were gone, back to being the weird girl who was too different to have any friends."

Clarke's hot sigh wafted against her shoulder, the lifeguard managing to shift her hands in Anya's grip enough to wrap Anya up tighter. "You scared me. That last trick, the...you made a flower bloom in the dead of winter."

Finally having that last puzzle piece had her throat seizing up like a boulder was lodged inside it. She'd only been trying to help; Clarke had returned from the dentist and her mouth was hurting, so she'd tried to cheer her friend up. Clarke had always liked lilies.

She'd just been trying to make Clarke smile and feel better. Knowing that was what turned the tide made her feel ill.

"And so, what, you were just...scared of me all this time?" The concept was nauseating. Sure, she'd been thorny and standoffish ever since Clarke abandoned her when they were young, but she'd never felt intimidating. She'd never really wanted to be intimidating. Not to the people in her life, at least, even those who left her. "Goddess..."

"Hey, no, no I..." Clarke started before words apparently failed her, rendering her protest empty. "Look, maybe I was scared at first. Magic _is_ scary, and you did something I couldn't chalk up as a standard trick, so I...I bolted. And then I got comfortable, and by then, we'd been apart for long enough that I just...felt guilty. So I guess I framed you in my mind as a weird, abrasive girl and tried to forget that you were good. I was just scared of what you could do, and how I couldn't explain it, and now I'm back in that situation, but I'm _not_ running this time. I'm staying put, and I want you here with me...I'm not making the same mistake twice."

Mistake.

The word slapped her in the face. She'd held onto this pain for so long, losing the only friend she'd had for years. She'd been so angry with Clarke, angry with herself, and so damn lonely. It wasn't until junior year that Emori had moved into town and given her a semblance of connection, both socially and in having a friend who was also magically-attuned. She'd been so isolated for so long, and Clarke had just moved on with her life, as if nothing happened, as if they hadn't been friends.

So the fact that Clarke's voice burned with remorse had her feeling like a weight had been lifted off her chest after years and years of constant pressure. Not that she was quick to forgive, but just hearing those words felt good.

A little too good, to be honest, kicking her defensive nature into gear. "Ugh, you reek."

"I _what_ , now?"

The sheer bewilderment in Clarke's voice had laughter escaping her once more, this time of her own volition. The shock was well earned; Clarke smelled divine, and it wasn't arrogant for the girl to understand that truth, especially given Clarke did seem freshly showered.

The hands at her waist and hips moved with renewed vigor, breaking Anya's grip enough to renew her tickling. "Okay, I was being nice! I said, like, three good things about you!"

Anya bucked under the frenzied ministrations, all to no avail. Try as she might, Clarke remained atop her, those pale hands delivering her into an agonizing fit of laughter. "Goddess, let me go!"

Maybe her protests this time around were a little less sincere. Maybe Clarke caught onto that. "Okay, well, that's flattering of you to say, I really do appreciate it. Two left, though, babe."

Her groan was more out of exasperation than frustration, because of course Clarke would twist it that way. For a brief moment she managed to nearly throw Clarke off of her, but then Clarke's hips slammed down onto hers, driving her back into the mattress.

There may as well have been a waterfall, even if the only sound that left her was a breathless gasp. The sudden heat and arousal pulsing from her core had her feeling a little foggy in the head, movements a little less responsive as Clarke's hand migrated to her sensitive stomach. Dollars to doughnuts, the mattress would be wet beneath her, and good luck explaining that away.

"Come on, I said you're brave and strong...I'll stop if you return the favour." She would have rolled her eyes had she the necessary control over her body. As it was, her stomach got a special sort of sensitive when she was aroused, and Clarke was just relentlessly working her over, letting out halfway adorable giggles as she continued her assault.

Anya could barely hold on, hand scrabbling weakly, body too tense and tired from the tickling to offer much resistance as seconds ticked by. "N...not fair. Can't breathe." Her bluff was called, Clarke not even skipping a beat. "Damn it!"

"Oh come on, it's not so bad. It's just a word or two." Clarke teased, nose finding the nape of her neck. "Do you need me to sweeten the pot? Hrm? Is that what you're holding out for?"

One of the hands at her waist started dipping lower, and that was enough to jolt her into action, not willing to take the risk of Clarke finding out she was rocking a veritable wetlands preserve under her shorts. "De...determined..." She managed to get out, which stilled Clarke's hands against her body for enough to take in a calming breath. Enough to sift through the bevy of inappropriate comments whirling around in her head to something that was safer. "Your...I like your chin."

Clarke pulled her hands away, her weight shifting to where she was likely sitting up atop her. "See? Was that so hard?"

"It was, actually. You barely let me get a word out." Anya managed, still fighting to catch her breath, hands clutching the sheets beneath her.  

"I don't know, I heard a lot of 'ha ha's. But...seriously, you like my chin?" Anya offered a tiny nod at the question, spurring her host to comb a soothing hand through her hair. It wasn't something she'd experienced much before, at least not from another person, but each gentle stroke left her wanting. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for all the tickling. I just...I remembered how you used to laugh all the time as a kid, and...you were always so happy back then."

Anya swallowed hard, knowing Clarke wasn't off the mark on that. She'd been a bright, bubbly kid back then. That all changed, of course, but back in those days, she was always smiling or laughing. They were easier times.

"It's whatever." It had been a bit uncomfortable to start with, but Clarke meant well, and she hadn't been hurt. Mortifyingly aroused, but not hurt. "Quick question, though...did you want me down there playing with you and your friends tonight?"

Clarke's weight shifted off of her hips and sunk into the mattress beside her, Anya dipping slightly as Clarke settled in right beside her, one leg still slung across the back of her thighs. "I didn't at first...but I'm glad you did. We needed a full group who can can really dig into the roleplay...Finn was never all that great at it. It's nice to have that sort of feel back, even if your character seems like the cliché broody lone wolf with a haunted past."

"Well, I was only given a half hour to create a character and her back story before I had to pass some details on. She's not that simple, though...she's layered. Some of those layers might be rife with stereotypes, but they're still layers." She offered, fighting to contain the shiver coursing through her body as Clarke's hand brushed up her back to the nape of her neck, slowly and carefully twirling fingers into her hair. "But it was nice to stretch my acting muscles again after a while away. So...you want me to keep playing?"

"For sure! I mean...you're probably going to have to deal with an inquisition in the next session. Monty and Raven are going to have questions for your...display...tonight, but yeah. The seat's there if you want it." Yeah, maybe the magic was a bit much, maybe it was a bit impulsive of her, but she didn't want to have to tiptoe around, or have Clarke bombarded with questions she couldn't answer. This way, at least the cat was out of the bag, and everyone could talk openly about it, for better or worse. It wasn't as if magic was some enormous secret that it couldn't be talked about; some friends talking it over was far different than a live demonstration to the masses. "...And since you just got introduced, it'd be bad form to back out, you know."

"Oh, well, if it'd be bad form, then I suppose I'll be there." She noted with a roll of her eyes, allowing herself a grin at her host's playful words before a lengthy yawn escaped her. Clarke's hand was alternating between grazing through her hair and gently tangling her fingers into it, and the ministrations were most certainly soothing. She didn't remember Clarke being this affectionate, but maybe it was more of a thing she did at home than in public. "And I don't mind questions. Curiosity might kill the cat, but it won't kill me."

The hand in her hair stilled for a moment before getting back to combing through her hair, over and over, tips of her fingers grazing delectably against her scalp. "So this...'bond' thing. How deep does that rabbit hole go? What's it for? People must cast it for a reason."

"What, people can't want to know each other's emotions for the sake of it?" Anya asked. It was as good of a rebuttal as she could come up with on the fly, but she knew it wouldn't delay the inevitable for too long.

"Well, maybe some people for whatever reasons, I guess, but your dad wanted to bond you with this other person and sell you off to be with them, like...an arranged marriage, I think you said? Or maybe Wells said it. Either way, it's just...it doesn't seem like this would be the only thing if you're trying to bring two people closer together." To her credit, Clarke was rapidly narrowing down the root reason for the bond. That didn't mean she couldn't try to distract her from the reality as long as possible.

The last thing she wanted was for Clarke to think they were destined or fated to be together, that they didn't have a choice.

"There are a few other effects, but those would only kick in under certain situations. It's a way to bond people so they'll know each other, so they'll be more honest, so that they can know how the other is doing no matter how far apart in case of emergencies. You'll be hard pressed to find much complexity in it, it's all pretty boring." She did what she could to keep her voice calm during her white lie, a fairly easy task with the way Clarke played with her hair. "If you ever want to know every single mundane detail, I'll tell you, but maybe the middle of the night isn't the best time for that."

Clarke's hand finished another delightful run through her hair and trailed back down her spine at an achingly teasing crawl, settling right at the small of her back, maybe a little below it. "We really should call it a night. I usually need some white noise to help me sleep...usually a movie or something does the trick. You up for that?"

Anya blinked, taking in the offer of a sleep aid. Or, perhaps it was a request for company. Either way, that wasn't happening there in the guest bedroom. "This is your home, Clarke. If I were to join you in that, it'd be wrong for you to give up your bed. It shouldn't be here."

Her host let out a low hum. "Well, look at you. Are you asking to share my bed, Anya?"

Thankfully the laughter that escaped Clarke relieved her from having to answer that with any sort of directness, but the strange teasing heat in the words had her wondering exactly what Clarke was up to. Maybe it was all an act, but between the touching and the words and the tone, it was hard to write it all off. "I'll keep you company until you fall asleep. It's important to get used to this bed if I'll be staying for a few days."

"Well, that sounds good to me." Clarke rolled to the far side of the bed and got to her feet, peering over at her expectantly. "You coming?"

Anya stretched out on the bed. "I'll be over in a minute. I just need to change into something comfortable. Sleeping in denim is ill-advised."

"That may or may not be true, but alright. You don't have to knock when you come over, though. Just walk in." Anya waited until Clarke was out of the room before letting out her breath, happy enough that all of Clarke's gentle touches had replaced a lot of that searing arousal with warm comfort. She could think and speak without being fearful of a moan escaping, at least.

Still, it took a few minutes to clean up to where she wouldn't smell like the physical embodiment of sex when she visited Clarke's room, and to clean up the spot in her sheets. Not her proudest moment, but she could be satisfied after it all that no one would probably notice. Hopefully.

She didn't have much in the way of a change of clothes, but she did have a tee shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, so that would just have to do. It was a lot of skin to leave exposed, but maybe Clarke's bed would be big enough to where it wouldn't matter. Not that she minded contact, but she didn't want Clarke to think she was coming on to her or anything. She also didn't want a repeat of what happened in her bed happening in Clarke's.

Once she was sure there was no threat of spontaneous internal combustion, she left the room and ventured down the hall.

She could hear something playing, muffled dialogue and other ambient sounds reaching her ears from the other side of the door. Clarke had already started without her, so maybe it took a second guess or two to creak open the door and peek in, spotting Clarke propped up against a pile of pillows.

It took Clarke a moment to notice her, but those deep blue eyes eventually shifted to her, slowly scanning her up and down. "Hey, come on over and get comfortable." Clarke's voice was a little gravelly, clearly starting to slip towards slumber.

Knowing she probably wouldn't be in there for long, she moseyed on over, eyeing a spot by the edge of the pillow mound. She figured it'd be comfy and give her enough distance for nothing to be at risk, but as soon as she planted herself on the bed, Clarke's arm looped around hers and tugged her closer.

"What are we watching?" She asked, not recognizing what was on screen, not that she likely would. Film and television weren't her highest priorities most of the time.

"The Expanse. I'm kind of a big sci-fi geek." Clarke let out following a lengthy yawn.

Anya rolled her eyes. "The sci-fi show where the magic particle thing changes the laws of physics and essentially is magic, and no one knows what to do about it until they decide to just go along for the ride?"

Clarke's head snapped towards her, brows furrowed. "Okay that's...that's not fair. Don't compare me to the show."

"I'm just saying. Sometimes you don't need to know exactly how something works. Just...find a way to make peace with it, and try to make the best of it." Anya countered easily.

Her host tugged her closer. "You know the proto-molecule killed a huge amount of people, right?"

She shrugged. "Sure. It also didn't really have much of a conscience. It followed programmed orders. I'd like to think I'm not a murderer, and there's a cost to my magic, not unlimited power."

Clarke huffed and wrapped an arm around her, pulling Anya onto her side and up against Clarke's warm, soft body. "Shush, we're trying to sleep."

Anya wanted to make a pointed remark about how Clarke started it in the first place, but being so close to the lifeguard had her feeling hazy. With her nose an inch from Clarke's shoulder, she was taking in the full heady aroma of Clarke's body wash, and that jasmine-vanilla mixture was doing a number on her senses. Without the sensory overload of Clarke's tickling, it was magnitudes easier to lose herself in the wonderful scent. Combined with how delightfully comfortable Clarke was, and how good it felt to be held close, Anya very swiftly had trouble recalling what she'd been annoyed about.

She heard something; words, probably, but they seemed farther and farther away by the second. As she slung a leg over Clarke's and slumber rushed up to meet her, Anya wondered if maybe the mattress was a tiny bit firm for her liking compared to the guest bed.

Oh well, it was inconsequential. She was warm and comfortable enough for a smile to spread across her face as the room faded into white noise.

* * *

 

Even though her body generally loathed getting up in the early hours of a day, or at least earlier than nine o'clock, Clarke did love mornings. The sunlight blooming into her room, the fresh breeze curling in the air, the comfort of waking up in her bed? It was all delightful as hell, and she could appreciate that even if her body begged for another few hours of sleep.

Her bed had been a sort of home within her home for the longest time, but had been an especially helpful place of reprieve for her across the past months after the Finn debacle. Having somewhere she could go to shut out the noise and find some peace had been crucial, and it'd been hard to imagine sharing that space with another person again anytime soon.

Enter Anya Haywood, stage left.

It'd been on a whim that she'd invited the girl to stay at her home. Hell, it'd been out of pride, not wanting anyone she was apparently bonded with to be a damn literal cave woman. Yet, that first night had proven itself a great revelator, stripping back some of the layers between them; most were Anya's, but she'd had to face some of her own, and she had an appreciation for that.

It was good to be honest. As much as she didn't understand the science behind how she managed to feel Anya's emotions, and vice-versa, she did appreciate how it compelled them both towards sincerity, and in turn towards finding a sort of comfort zone with each other. After Finn, it was deeply comforting for there to be a window into Anya's mind, and the past few days had been no less than revelatory even if Anya had been more distant since the first night.

And, of course, she missed some more physical things as well. Particularly, curling up in bed with someone who wanted to be there with her. That, perhaps more than nearly anything else that first night, was what had surprised her the most. She'd always been fine on her own, and she still was, but there was something special about that sort of simple intimacy, that mutual companionship.

And as she stared out at the dull, grey waves of the ocean and the overcast sky above them, watching over a nearly empty beach, that was what she found herself wanting the most, even if just once more, even for a mere minute.

My, how things had changed.

She'd come to accept over the years that Anya didn't like her. That the girl's stony, thorny manners around her weren't simply her everyday personality, but perhaps the sort of behaviour Clarke had earned from her to some extent. She'd come, much more recently, to accept that Anya held a particular disdain for her skepticism and found her condescending. It took a little bit of introspection, but maybe some of that was warranted. She had been pretty arrogant about magic, she'd mocked it. Yeah, she'd earned Anya's hostility.

But it wasn't as if she'd forgotten all about Anya and their past friendship. Most of those times, sure, but plenty of memories remained, and she'd been eager that night to show one of those off and maybe lighten the mood in tickling her guest. When that initial shock of Anya's quickly melted into a string of defensive words and a deep arousal that Clarke felt in her chest, well, that had more than piqued her interest.

And maybe she had pushed a little hard, and got a little handsy out of sheer curiosity, but when she'd felt that same second-hand arousal from running a hand through Anya's hair, or stroking her back, it let her know it wasn't purely physical. Anya liked her more than she let on, something she'd confirmed infrequently across the last few days.

It wasn't knowledge she planned to act on, not wanting to push or mortify her houseguest. She'd set the stage for falling asleep quickly and leaving Anya to return to her own room that night, but a bit of banter led to her pulling Anya close for a moment, and remembering the subsequent bit of bed-sharing had Clarke's chest feeling bright, light, and airy still just as fresh today as it had back then.

It was a blissful little moment that kept returning to her over the initial hours of the day, leaving her yearning to be home and away from a place she generally hated leaving. It was bizarre, but not unwelcome, even if she knew it probably wouldn't happen again. Not with Anya's insistence on sleeping alone in the guest room each night since.

If Anya's story was true, and the girl had no reason to lie, then she'd been living a high-stress life for a little while, and could use a bit of recuperation.  Who was she to get in the way of that, whether it was in bed with her, or alone with as much space as she needed? Why, it'd probably be the moral and just course of action to make sure Anya was as comfortable and happy as she could be.

Still, her thoughts kept jumping back to that first morning, especially when every time she'd ran a hand through Anya's hair, or gently rubbed at the girl's back. Her chest would bloom with this simple sort of warmth and comfort, detached enough to know it wasn't her own. Not that being in that situation hadn't made her happy as hell, since it had, and the memories were still fresh enough to relive a large part of those sensations, but it wasn't nearly as exhilarating as getting that real-time feedback.

With Finn, it was always a bit of a guessing game, and at some times, she thought he was really happy and into it, but he apparently hadn't been. Getting to know that she was making Anya happy, even if it was just a sleeping form of Anya, it was nice. It was thrilling to know she could use the bond to be sure she was doing the right thing by someone.

That it was Anya made it all the more intriguing. It was a raw sort of feeling, knowing she'd been missed all these years, yet could still trust her enough, and feel safe enough with her, to fall asleep against her. It was certainly jarring to know the kind of heat her affections inspired in her houseguest.

Flattered didn't completely cover how it made her feel, especially how Anya did her best to keep everything casual and normal and worked at drawing attention away from it in the days following.  Even if it was just for her guest to save her own pride, she could appreciate someone for once not trying to bludgeon her over the head with their attraction to her.

Of course, she also hoped that maybe the girl started to catch on to how she saw Anya, with how she touched her that night. She'd reluctantly left for work before Anya had woken up, however, so it was hard to say. Anya certainly hadn't been very talkative since, not even in the dungeons and dragons session they'd ran the previous night.

She'd never been the one in the initiator role before at any point in their brief histories together, and the possibilities it offered her helped alleviate much of the boredom throughout the morning. The six people on her beach weren't too difficult to keep track of and in check.

If only Emori hadn't cancelled Anya's shift, maybe she'd have managed something interesting outside of marveling once again at her enchanted water bottle. Not that she'd ever get the hang of that, but still.

"I know you hate walking all the way over to the shack, but you need to refill your water eventually. Can't have you passing out on me and needing mouth to mouth." Bellamy had her rolling her eyes in disdain, having hoped he would have kept busy elsewhere on the beach. Even though he could have spent the whole day wheeling around in the four-wheeler, he just had to take a few minutes to aggravate her.

Clarke lifted and shook her thermos, the full canteen swishing with the motion despite regularly indulging in it over the past few hours. Bizarre for sure, but it at least gave her a reason to send him on his way. “I’m full-up, and it’ll be a cold day in hell when you can give me mouth to mouth and live to tell about it.”

“You know, I actually appreciate the whole ice queen thing you’ve got with me, princess. Only you and that bitchy girl from yesterday seem immune to my charms, you make me have to work for it.” Bellamy shot back with a characteristic grin that she could hardly return.

Maybe Anya was kind of a bitch, but he definitely didn’t get to call her that.

"Hey, don't be an asshole, she's...she's a friend!"

"Well, that was convincing. You've known her for what, a hot second?"

Bellamy, of course, couldn't just sit down and take the criticism. Maybe he just wanted her to be candid, and maybe she hated that she gave into the impulse. "I've known her since she was a kid, we went to school together. Hell, she's staying at mine for a while until she gets a place of her own." She insisted, cocking an eyebrow at him. "She's a little abrasive, but no worse than you."

"Hey, women love me! It's only you two that give me shit. And Emori...and Raven, eventually. But still!" Bellamy might have a point, but it only made her laugh that she and Anya were some of the few that had never fallen under whatever weird spell he seemed to put on other women.

Clarke would take any common ground she could get with her houseguest at this point, especially if it helped annoy and frustrate Bellamy Blake.

"Either way, why don't you just cut your losses and focus on the cougar giving you heart-eyes down the coastline over there?" She knew her suggestion would fall on deaf ears, as usual, but she had to try. "And I'm hydrated. Anya gave me a big water bottle to keep as a spare. I should be good 'til my break."

"Well, figured I'd offer." Bellamy raised his hands in mock surrender.

"When was that, exactly? You just told me you hadn't seen me grab more water, not that you'd fill it yourself." Her remark only earned a laugh and a smarmy smile that most unfortunately considered charming.

"That wasn't the offer." He noted, tapping lips with his middle and index fingers as he backed away, barely containing his laughter at the harsh glare she sent his way. As fucking if she'd take him up on 'mouth to mouth'. A cold day in hell would be an immense understatement.

Clarke uncapped her thermos and took an angry swig, allowing herself a moment once again to marvel at the fact that it was fresh water. That probably wouldn't change any time soon, but she had bigger fish to fry on that front. As relatively straight forward as Anya had been about the so-called 'enchantment' on the thermos, she was far more cryptic about the apparent bond they shared.

As the sun slowly made its trek towards the horizon, the overcast sky inching closer to twilight with each and every darker shade of grey, the beach started its usual transformation. The swimmers would pack up late in the afternoon and make way for the people prepping the fire pits for the night's parties.

She'd been listening to trucks and SUVs pulling in and out of the parking lot for the past hour or two when a familiar rumble reached her ears. The sound was hard to pinpoint, at least at first with her focus jumping from memory to memory like lightning. It sounded like a storm rolling in, which may as well have been prophetic as the events from yesterday evening came to mind.

Clarke turned her focus away from the beach and back towards the snack shack, watching Anya's father emerge from the old, dark vehicle that just rolled into the lot.

"He doesn't know...he's just checking in again, it's nothing." She muttered to herself, tracking his movements as he approached the shack.

She wasn't sure if it was the blood rushing in her ears or the surf behind her when the man diverted his course at the last moment and approached a figure leaning up against the building instead of the serving counter.

Because of course Bellamy would be getting his end-of-shift burger ten minutes earlier than usual.

The words she'd spoken returned to her just as Bellamy pointed off in her direction, the older man's severe gaze soon landing on her.

"Oh shit..." She tried to calm her nerves and remain casual, not wanting to give anything away, but the way Anya's father moved was just flat-out wrong. Whether on asphalt or in sand, his gait was graceful, posture upright and almost regal with his hands clasped behind his back, but it was the barely contained malice in his movements that unnerved her. Almost as if it took every fiber of his being not to rush forward and get his hands on her.

Her heart was racing, head buzzing as he approached, the air growing thicker with each step. Hell, she swore ozone stung her nostrils, as if it was a thunderstorm stalking after her rather than a man of flesh and bone.

"As I live and breathe! Is that little Clarke Griffin, all grown up?" The words were cloying as they filled the air between them, Anya's father peering up at her in her perch. For all the familiarity and sweetness in his tone, nothing of the sort shone back at her in his eyes. She remembered him as a serious man, but his gaze was chilling, sending a shiver coursing down her spine. "When that boy over there told me Anya had been spending time with you again, I couldn't help but be intrigued."

"Our best friends are dating.  It's not like we're close." She shot back, crossing her arms, head turning to follow Anya's father as he rounded the tower toward the ladder.

By his laughter, her bluff had thoroughly been called. "Oh, I'd say that's a bit of a stretch, Clarke. My child has never been one for half measures."

No, she supposed, Anya was a little polarizing like that. Of course, it meant that Anya still didn't consider her a friend, but maybe one day. She'd made some headway, but not nearly enough, not yet. "No, which has me wondering why you're here.  Like I said, it's not like we're close...I know what it's like with her when she's friendly, and she's not like that with me."

"And yet, she's been staying with you. I'm sure you can understand why I'd be a little perplexed." He let out, head angling up to stare at her. "She hasn't been back for a week, and I do think it's about time she came home, so why..."

She waited for the rest of his words, but they fell back down his throat just as his gaze fell to her torso. Or, more specifically, her arms.

The fake sweet politeness in his voice burned away as a cold fire lit in his pale blue eyes. "Where did you get that bracelet?"

"I stumbled into it. What's it to you?" She asked, taking a half step back, only prompting him to put his hands on the shoddy rails of the ladder.

"That is _not_ yours. I'll have it back now." He commanded with wild eyes, taking a step up the ladder, blocking her only easy way down. Short of jumping over the railing and managing the fall onto the sand, she didn't have many options in terms of escape, and while she had a tendency to stand her ground and face conflict head-on, she wasn't suicidal.

Anya's little trick from the other night, along with the thermos, let her know that the laws of physics and reality didn't apply to magic. For all she knew, he could rend reality asunder with a snap of his fingers, and that had her heart jumping as he took a step up another rung. Even Anya was scared of him, so maybe she'd take a little caution this time.

There was no use in pretending anymore, though. "It's not like I can just take it off."

"Oh, I can help with that." His hand left the railing and reached behind him, the sight of gleaming metal sending her reeling backward another step, gobsmacked at the unspoken plan of action and the eagerness of his voice.

He and his knife held her attention as he sized her up with amused curiosity, like a butcher might stare at an unfamiliar animal ready for slaughter. Maybe it was the fear churning in her gut, maybe it was the complete absurdity of the scenario, or maybe it was her desperate need for an escape route.

Regardless, she was looking for something, anything to help, and that was when she caught sight of an abnormally large wave cresting on the shoreline directly ahead of her. Or, specifically, the briefest flash of light within it.

For all she knew, some crack in the dense cloud cover could have formed to bring it about; waves didn't shine like that without the sun, after all. Yet, as the wave crashed into shore, it left a figure in its wake slowly tromping through the ankle-high ocean water directly toward the tower.

If it wasn't such a massive relief to maybe have a chance at getting out of the situation, she would have laughed at the sight of Anya storming towards them in a sopping wet t-shirt and shorts, scrabbling to slip on a strange, clawed glove over one of her hands.

"Not here! Not now!" Anya called out all wide-eyed, though not so egregiously loud as to draw much attention from the few others set up far down the shoreline from her post. Anya's father didn't flinch. "This is not the place or the time, and you know it." Anya's voice dropped to a more reasonable level as she drew close.

"Apparently there _isn't_ a time or place, since you stole both from me through _her_." Anya's father chided, peering over his shoulder towards his daughter. It'd been a hot day, but Anya's father had brought a chill to the air around them. "I knew you were pathetic, but this is ridiculous! All those days of you bawling over her like a kicked puppy, and what, you think you just get to have some happily ever after, now?! You think you can disrupt my enchantment, toss the bracelet on her, and everything will work out? Grow up!"

"That's not...that's not what happened!" Anya yelled back, brow furrowing as she shook her head. "I didn't do anything to your _precious_ bracelet except throw it across the damned store!"

"You honestly expect me to believe that?! She's wearing the damn thing!" Anya's father had turned away towards his daughter now, though kept a finger pointed in Clarke's direction. With the knife at his side, though, she could at least breathe a little easier.

The duo's banter had her way off-kilter, not sure how exactly to process the ideas of Anya crying over her or the fact that Anya had somehow jumped through time and space to her aid. It was hard to reconcile that with how hostile Anya had been to her at the weird old shop, or during Anya's first shift at the beach, or much of their time back in school. Her brain was running at a hundred miles an hour and it was honestly starting to hurt.

Regardless, Anya's father didn't have the full story. She had to do something, anything. "I was trying on a lot of bracelets, what was I supposed to do, just leave it on the ground for someone else to trample on? Anya told me not to put it on, and I didn't listen, so if there's anyone to blame, it's me!"

 Anya's father reared up as he looked back at her, offering the most perplexed expression she'd ever witnessed. It lasted just long enough for Anya to rush around him and put herself in front of the ladder, guarding the way up the lifeguard tower.

"Shut up, Clarke!" Anya yelled, but the man's harsh, biting laughter quickly drowned her out.

"Oh wow, you have _got_ to be kidding me! Are you honestly insinuating that..." Anya's father shifted his gaze between them, head swinging from side to side freely, face twisting in rage as Anya's expression fell. "This is absurd! You honestly expect me to believe you two are goddamn soulmates?! You really are pathetic..."

"Just leave, father!" With the crashing waves behind her, and the sounds of preparations across the coast, it was a little harder to hear when Anya leaned in close to her father, but her old friend's words were just barely audible. "It's too public. If you cause more of a scene, the court will fall hard on you. Go home. Better yet, let this dream of yours go, it's over. It's over."

Clarke was trying to keep up with the back and forth muttered conversation, but the buzzing in her head was too loud for that now, her feet pedaling her backwards away to the rear of the tower, the railing there catching her and offering a semblance of support as she fought to put the puzzle together now that she was offered yet another missing piece.

The S-word reverberated in her skull with relentless fervor, only growing louder and louder by the second. Magic, after all, was real, she'd seen as much. So _soulmates_ , whatever that constituted? Well, maybe that was real too. Did that mean there was a soul? That fate or destiny was actually real in some sense? That the connection she had with Anya, even before the bracelets, was a special one?

Her chest was caving in with a visceral sort of anticipation, knowing answers to those questions were only a few paces away. Questions that hadn't even existed, let alone held any weight, until moments ago.

"Soulmates...?" She mumbled, too many thoughts filling her head for some not to spill out her mouth. It seemed preposterous, and yet...

The snapping of fingers in front of her face brought her back to reality, namely one with a wild-eyed Anya in front of her. As soon as her eyes were focused on her houseguest, Anya crossed her arms. "What the hell happened?! Why was my dad going after you?!"

"Bellamy must have..."

"How did the _perv_ know anything?"

"I made an offhand remark, I didn't think it was a big deal..."

"Well, now instead of me being on the run, we're _both_ on the run, just in time for your parents to get back from their trip. Should be fun to explain to them why you're not home."

That prospect had her mind clearing, at least enough to really make room for why that would need to be the case. "Wait, why am I running? People don't just raid other people's homes, Anya."

"Your home is isolated. Your parents get home in two days, and my dad will not wait to get his things to eviscerate us. You're not safe there." If she focused hard enough, she might have heard sincere concern amidst all that frustrated anger.

The memory of the knife flashed in her mind, unsure how that slipped out of her focus, even if briefly. "Shit, he had a knife...he..." Clarke held a hand to her collarbone and willed her heart to stop pounding at its cage, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through her body.

"Be thankful that's all he had. It's not fun being on the business end of it, but trust me, he can and would do _so_ much worse, so we need to come up with a plan on where..." Anya's words rolled over her, at least at the start. The imagery of the knife was still firmly in her focus, but as Anya's words caught up with her, as her body started to relax again, she started to realize that some of the fear she felt wasn't hers. It felt different, detached, the same way it had before.

Anya was scared, and she wasn't calming down in the least.

Her focus shot right back to the woman in front of her, a few select words cutting through the haze. Sure, she knew Anya had run from home, had been hiding from her father; somewhere in her brain, she knew there had to be some sort of logical reason for that degree of avoidance, but Anya putting it to words so casually had her heart keeling over.

"He's hurt you with it before?" She interrupted. Anya recoiled, mid-speech, expression contorting in confusion before swiftly smoothing out.

"I don't want to talk about it. We need to figure out where to go, Clarke." Anya bit back, voice all low and seeping with caution. Anya's breathing has slowed considerably, each inhale and exhale slow and measured.

She was trying to calm herself. Probably to seem reassuring, that she wasn't scared, that she was confident. It was a decently done bit of redirection, but Clarke had endured far too much of it in the past not to see through it.

That didn't mean she had to call Anya on it. No, she was right, they did need to figure out where to go.

"I'll handle it. You'll be safe, I promise." She hoped Anya would at least show some amount of relief, but if anything, she stared at her like she had two heads.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Safety's in low supply, and now he has one more person to take his anger out on. He'll relish that opportunity." Anya shook her head and stared off towards the shack. "He's gone. We've got maybe an hour before he'll come for us, so I'm going to get some things. There's a dentist's office on the corner of Inverness and Lynhar, meet me there in forty five minutes."

It wasn't much time, but she'd find a way. She always did.

Anya didn't wait for a response, swiftly hopping down from the tower and heading off towards the woods around the beach, leaving Clarke with many more questions than answers.

She glanced over at the snack shack and caught sight of Finn and Emori approaching, probably having closed up shop a bit early. With any luck, they'd be able to help her fill in a blank or two and get them on their way.

Luck hadn't been on her side recently, but maybe the winds were shifting a little bit with everything out in the open now.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I hope you enjoyed this little portion of the story at least more than I have. I'll post more of what I've written when I have a larger buffer to work with, since it makes it easier to rewrite unsatisfactory parts with newer better ideas as I go, and I'd rather not heavily edit chapters after I've published them, at least not regarding the narrative. Not that I'm above retconning this chapter a bit if it's needed in the future, but I'd prefer not to.
> 
> Wishing you all the best, I hope the rest of October treats you all well!
> 
> (title of story is drawn from Low's song of the same name, go check it out)


End file.
